


Misconceptions

by dkwilliams



Series: Misconceptions Universe [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childbirth, Consensual Kink, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 61
Words: 279,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shared Double Quickening in "Revelations" has an unexpected side effect, one that changes the lives of Methos and Duncan MacLeod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acknowledgements and Notes

This is an edited version of the story originally published on the Highlander lists and on my website from 2001-2003. The original story was written as a serial and as such, it had an immediate impact on readers, but lacked a certain polish, especially towards the end. I have long wanted to do a thorough rewrite of the whole story, to clean it up, fix story errors, and prune some of the deadwood. Putting this story into pdf format for printing allowed me to do that - I could even say, required it because the original was just too long. The original storyline is intact, although some of minor story points have been cut back or cut out, to bring balance to the whole thing and focus back on the original plot. Some of these bits have been turned into short stories that will be posted as part of a collection of short stories and sequels in the Miscon universe. Some other minor story bits, all post-delivery, have been scrapped because they detracted from the main story and just didn't work. I hope you enjoy this revised version as much as the original, and that if you're reading this story for the first time, you enjoy it as much as the initial readers did.

Thanks to my 1st Edition editors mecurtin and dswdiane for their wonderful help with editing the initial version of this story, and to my 2nd Edition editor, Kelly, for helping polish up this version. Any remaining errors in this story are my fault, not theirs.

Special thanks to the artists whose work appears here, Jubie and Osianna. Jubie created the beautiful Methos portrait shown later in the story, and Osianna created the marvelous cover and closing art. I would like to thank them both for their beautiful contributions to the story.

This story is quite obviously an alternate reality/timeline from the series and movies, deviating roughly around "A Modern Prometheus". Some canon from episodes after that may or may not have been incorporated, at my whim. Also, "Endgame" didn't happen, the Ahriman trilogy has been pushed back a year, and the less said about "Highlander: The Source" the better, because it's definitely not in this universe.

References to streets and other features of Paris are based on maps obtained from the internet and other reference sources, and also involve my "best guess" for features such as the best place to have a private sword fight. So my apologies to anyone more familiar with Paris if these guesses are ludicrous or just plain *wrong*. [Pictures, artwork, floor plans, and songs referred to in this story can be found in a separate sequel to this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9738978) .

Thank you for reading and enjoy!

 

 

Picture by osianna.  More fan art by her and other artist can be found on [Page 1 of the Gallery.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9738978)

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that some people may consider the sex that occurs between the main characters in this chapter to be non-con or dub-con because they are both under the effects of a Quickening. However, although Methos may snark about it for several chapters, I don't believe this to be true dub-con so I have not labeled this story as such.

It all began in Bordeaux.

Oddly fitting, as Duncan was to reflect later, but at the time he was oblivious to the unique circumstances unfolding around him. All he was aware of was angry footsteps fading into the distance and the muted sobs from the man kneeling on the floor below him. Duncan wanted nothing more than to walk away himself but he knew he couldn't do that any more than he could allow Cassandra to take Methos' head.

So he pulled himself together and secured his sword, then hauled Methos away from the decaying sub base. Returning to his hotel, he was relieved to find that Cassandra had packed and left; he'd had more than enough confrontations for one day. And right now, the oldest Immortal needed him more than she did.

Methos was clearly at the end of his rope,  swaying on his feet. Duncan stripped him down and thrust him into the shower for a quick wash, then shoved the exhausted man into bed. Finally reaching the end of this horrendous day, Duncan got his own shower and room service. Methos didn't even rouse at the smell of food, for which Duncan was also relieved. He couldn't handle another one of their talks at the moment.

His earlier ire at the oldest Immortal was fading fast, especially since it was now patently obvious that Methos had tried to push him out of harm's way that afternoon in Seacouver.  Methos had pushed every one of his buttons and he'd responded just as the old Immortal had expected him to, had jumped through every one of Methos' damned hoops. But in the final battle, Methos had come down on Duncan's side and that's what counted in the end.

Duncan didn't know whether to kiss the old man or spank him, although the latter was getting a strong vote at the moment, especially since Methos was sprawled in the middle of Duncan's bed, snoring loudly. Duncan was too tired to try to get another room, so he stripped down to his briefs, shoved Methos over to one side of the bed, and crawled in behind him. He'd deal with everything tomorrow.

Sometime in the early morning, he drifted awake to the realization that his erstwhile bed partner had moved closer during the night. Right up against him, as a matter of fact, his back pressed against Duncan's chest. His own arm was draped over Methos' body and he sleepily nuzzled the back of the other man's neck. A low moan encouraged his Quickening-eager libido and he felt his cock hardening.

"Methos?" he murmured as he rolled up onto one elbow, his lips tracing a path along Methos' collarbone. Another moan was his only answer although the naked ass pressing back against him was an answer of another kind, and he groaned in reply. He fumbled to release his erection from the confining briefs and pressed up against Methos' firm backside. His hand snaked over the firm belly to discover that Methos was just as hard as he was, and he grasped Methos' cock firmly. Another groan, and Methos was pressing back against him so hard that Duncan thought he'd come from the pressure alone.

"Inside me," Methos gasped, pulling his knee forward to give Duncan access. "Please!"

The words blazed a path through Duncan's soul. He'd had male lovers in the past, and he had wanted Methos almost from the moment they'd first met. He'd suspected Methos felt the same way - all that flirting and innuendo had to mean something - but somewhere along the line they'd lost their way and Duncan had accepted that it would never happen. Now here was Methos, offering him what he'd wanted for so long, and Duncan didn't hesitate.

Pausing only long enough to grab the massage oil from the nightstand, he oiled himself up and then eased a finger into his new lover's body. Methos opened eagerly, wantonly, and a few minutes later Duncan slid inside. He groaned at the delicious sensation of tightness and thrust steadily, delighting at the way Methos pushed back to meet him. His hand jacked Methos' erection faster, in time with his increasing thrusts, and it wasn't long before he heard the other man groan and felt his body shudder. Duncan's own climax hit at the same time, so incredibly intense that it seemed to shake his body apart, like the Quickening they'd shared earlier. He could barely catch his breath as he sagged against his lover's body and he was certain Methos had passed out.

Duncan slowly eased out of Methos' body and flopped on his back, grinning stupidly at the ceiling. It had taken too many years and there'd been too many misunderstandings, but they'd finally stopped dancing around their mutual attraction and Duncan was damned glad of it. He lay there for a long moment, relishing a future with Methos in it as his lover.

He couldn't lay there, though, his body still tingling all over, oddly keyed up, begging for motion of some kind. If Methos had been awake, he would have instigated another lovemaking session, but a glance over at the other man confirmed that he was still out cold. Duncan rolled up onto one elbow again and smiled down at the sleeping man. There were shadows under the oldest Immortal's eyes, proof that the past few weeks had been as painful for Methos as they'd been for Duncan. Probably more so, he thought with a shudder, as sudden empathy washed over him. Having a nightmare from your past suddenly come back to life, without anyone to turn to for help....Although Duncan would bet his life that Methos had been coming to him for help that day in the dojo, the day Cassandra had confronted him. If only he'd listened....

He sighed. That was all water under the bridge now. The important thing was that it was over, that they were together. And right now Methos needed sleep, not a broody lover hovering over him.  He hauled himself out of bed and fetched a damp cloth from the bathroom, cleaning his lover carefully. He was concerned when Methos didn't wake but, since the other man seemed to be just sleeping, Duncan let him be. He showered and dressed, pulled out spare clothes for Methos to put on when he woke, scrawled a note to the other man, and went out in search of breakfast and exercise.

 

* * *

Methos woke in the late morning hours, alone, the odd tingling in his body reminding him of the Quickening he'd shared with Duncan the previous day. He flopped onto his back and tried to ignore the sensation but it wouldn't go away so finally he threw back the covers and staggered into the bathroom to relieve his bladder.

A little more awake, he took in his unfamiliar surroundings with a frown. He couldn't remember anything after taking Silas' head except that bloody Quickening, but it was obvious that he was in Duncan's hotel room. And he was naked. Had it been anyone else's room he would have been worried, but it was obvious that the Boy Scout had stripped him and shoved him into bed, then left him alone. A neatly folded stack of clothing on a chair caught his attention, as did the note on it. It was from Duncan, of course, letting him know that his previous clothing had been unsalvageable. Duncan had gone "to clean up", asking Methos to meet him at the church.

He sighed; obviously they still had issues to resolve and he wasn't looking forward to _that_ talk. But at least MacLeod hadn't taken his head.

Suddenly hungry, he put in a call to room service, charging it to Duncan's room. A shower followed, and he stood under the hot water for what felt like hours. Kronos' haven had lacked any of the modern conveniences, and Methos felt like he hadn't been clean in months. After soaking for a long time, Methos reluctantly acknowledged that there was business to be handled. He soaped up, rinsed off, and went to put on the clean clothes Duncan had left for him.

Feeling oddly naked without his coat and sword, neither of which appeared to be in the room, he went to meet Duncan at the church. Duncan was waiting for him in the cemetery outside and, upon sighting him, gave him a blinding smile. Staggered by this greeting after the way their last few meetings had ended, Methos paused and narrowed his eyes as he studied the other man. Duncan was obviously still feeling the effects of the shared Quickening, and Methos could feel himself being drawn closer as well. He would have to be very careful or the two of them would be in a hell of a mess. _Talk_ , he decided, taking a deep breath, _then get the hell away from the Highlander until the effects had a chance to wear off_.

He continued walking and Duncan gave him an uncertain look, as if trying to gauge his mood.  He gestured at the items on the bench.

"I had your coat cleaned. And I went back to Kro-...to the base, got your sword and wallet."

Methos nodded briefly. "Thanks."

Duncan looked at his lover, puzzled. The man was holding himself stiffly, as if he might fall to pieces at any moment, and Duncan wanted nothing more than to take Methos into his arms and offer him comfort. He didn't move closer though, instinctively knowing that his offer would be rejected. Methos wasn't accustomed to leaning on anyone else, and until Methos got used to the fact that Duncan was here for him, he was just going to have to give Methos the space he needed. Any hint of pressure and the oldest Immortal would just disappear, and now that their relationship had changed, that was the last thing Duncan wanted. So he watched as Methos put on his coat and secured his sword, listened as he talked about the Horsemen and Cassandra.

"One of a thousand regrets," Methos said finally, walking off. And as Duncan slowly followed, he had the sudden chilling thought that last night might have been regret number one-thousand-and-one.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Methos was in a foul mood. Over the  month since Bordeaux, Duncan MacLeod had been impossible. Either the man was in Methos' face wanting to talk about what had happened, or he was giving Methos the cold shoulder. Added to that, Methos had acquired some sort of stomach bug that left him nauseous and tired all the time.  And now here was Amanda, waking him out of a dead sleep, going on and on about how Duncan was trying to get himself killed. Looking to him for answers, for guidance, when it was all he could do to keep from losing what little food he had managed to eat the previous day.

At the moment, Methos irritably wished Keane would just get it over with and put them all out of their misery. At least that way he would be able to go back to bed and get the sleep his body was desperately craving.

He sighed and sat down in his favorite chair, nursing the drink in his hand, and watched Amanda as she paced and worried. Damn the Highlander!  He got under all their skins and wound himself around their hearts, making them do things that were absolutely asinine, not to mention potentially life-threatening.  Like him, promising that he would go talk to Duncan and try to keep him from getting himself killed.

He sighed again. He needed a vacation, far away from troublesome man. Bora-Bora was definitely starting to look good.

 

* * *

 

Duncan was in a foul mood. During the past month since their return from Bordeaux, Methos had gone out of his way to avoid him. Considering what had happened between them, it was infuriating, exasperating -- and painful.

Duncan couldn't help acknowledging that Methos had every right to be angry with him. He hadn't been much of a friend when Methos needed him. He'd misunderstood, judged, and accused without really knowing the facts. The appearance of a ghost from Duncan's own dark past had made him realize that none of them were perfect, and that he had made mistakes and should be the last to judge anyone else.

Even worse, Methos hadn't said anything about the one night they'd spent together, so it was clear he didn't want a more intimate friendship. Duncan had felt hopeful when Methos had confronted him in the gardens, worried enough to shoot him in the back to keep him from fighting Keane. But then Methos had walked away, angry again, and Duncan knew the situation between them was far from resolved.

At least Keane had been appeased and sent on his way, Duncan thought, sighing. Deciding that spending another afternoon brooding on the barge wasn't a good idea, he put on his coat and went to Joe's.

 

* * *

 

Methos clung to the porcelain in front of him as his stomach threatened to liberate itself from his body. His knees hurt from the floor, his throat was raw, and his entire body ached. If a Hunter had walked in his door at that moment, he would have gladly offered his head. Anything to end this misery.

After a few more minutes huddled on the floor, he decided his stomach was settling, for the moment. He dragged himself to his feet, washed his face and rinsed out his mouth, and staggered into the kitchen in the faint hope of finding something to drink that wouldn't make him sick while he figured out his problem.

 _What_ was wrong was clear, no matter how bizarre. He hadn't been a doctor for so long without learning to diagnose obvious symptoms. _How_ it had happened was also not a question, since he was one of the few Immortals living who knew about this phenomenon. _Who_ was also not in doubt; there was only one Immortal with whom Methos could have formed the necessary bond. As for _when..._ The only time it could have happened was during the hours between the shared Quickening and the morning when he'd woken up in Duncan's bed.  Naked and alone.

Methos began a slow burn. Sometime during that night, MacLeod had done something Methos hadn't thought him capable of doing. He had taken advantage of his helplessness, had forced himself on Methos. And then hadn't even had the _decency_ to be there in the morning to explain. Hadn't, in fact, mentioned the incident during the following month.

Methos ground his teeth together and went in search of his coat and his sword. He'd teach that impudent young whelp a well-deserved lesson.

 

* * *

 

Duncan was sitting in the empty bar when the sense of Immortal presence and the sound of the door slamming open startled him. Before he quite knew what was happening, he'd been spun around, his back pressed against the bar and a sword at his throat. A sword wielded by a very pissed-off Methos.

"You bloody bastard!" Methos snarled.

Duncan held up his hands in surrender. "Methos? What did I do _now_?"

Methos pressed closer, the edge of his sword against Duncan's neck "You know bloody well what you did! I should take your head!"

Joe came around the corner of the bar, warily watching the two Immortals as if wondering whether he needed to get his gun. "Hold on a minute, Methos! Whatever Mac has done, I'm sure he can explain..."

"What he's done?" Methos gave a bark of laughter. "Why don't you tell _Joe,_ MacLeod?"

"I would if I knew."  Duncan didn't like the look in Methos' eyes; he was angrier than Duncan had ever seen him.

Methos snorted. "I suppose I should be insulted that it wasn't more memorable, but then, considering the number of bed partners you've had, I suppose another was hardly noticeable."

He saw a dawning light of understanding in Duncan's eyes and a smile twisted his lips. "Ah, I see it's starting to come back now. So why don't you tell Joe about how you took advantage of an _unconscious_ man? How you _raped_ me?"

Duncan went rigid even as he heard Joe's sharp intake of breath. "It wasn't rape," he said, his eyes locked on Methos. "You were willing; you _asked_ me to take you."

"Funny I don't _remember_ that, although I remember the Quickenings, then waking up naked in your bed. And - oddly enough - I was grateful that it _was_ your bed, thinking you were too _honorable_ to have taken advantage of me!"

"You were awake, I swear!" Duncan said desperately. "I said your name and you spoke to me, asked me to be inside you."

Methos snorted. "I was out of my bloody mind, MacLeod! I would have _had_ to be, knowing what could happen!" He tossed his sword on the counter. "I've changed my mind. I don't _want_ your damned Quickening. I've got too much of you inside me already." He slumped into a chair.

Duncan was bewildered by his sudden mood change. "Methos? What do you mean?"

"I mean," Methos said, giving Duncan a look that would have peeled paint, "that I am pregnant. And you're the father."


	4. Chapter 4

 

Methos' words echoed in the bar for a long moment as the other two men stared at him in shocked disbelief.

"You're what?" Duncan asked. The thought that he'd forced his friend to have sex with him had his stomach tied in knots, and he could hardly comprehend what else Methos said.

"I'm pregnant. You know: knocked up, bun in the oven, up the duff, in the pudding club. Stop me when this penetrates your thick head."

Joe slid down into a chair. "But Methos, disregarding the fact that you're a man -- you _are_ a man, aren't you?"

Methos glared at Joe. "What do you mean? Don't I look like a man to you?"

"Yeah, but you looked like a _Watcher_ to me for ten years, and I was wrong about that!"

Methos closed his eyes and snarled, "Fine. You don't believe me, ask MacLeod. He's seen me in the all-together. I'm sure he'll at least remember _that_ detail."

"Don't get testy, Old man.  But forget about gender.  There's another fact I'd like to point out: Immortals can't reproduce. So even if Mac...you know...raped you," He gave Duncan an embarrassed look, "he'd be shooting blanks so you _can't_ be pregnant."

Duncan gave his Watcher a scathing look as he risked sitting at the table since Methos no longer seemed homicidal. "Thanks, Joe."

"Always ready to help out a friend, Mac."

Duncan looked at the old Immortal with a frown. "You're putting me on, aren't you?"

Methos gave him another deadly look. "I always spend my mornings hugging the toilet."

"Considering how much you drink, I wouldn't be surprised," Joe said dryly.  Methos glared at him.

"Methos," Duncan said with painful intensity. "I'm sorry if I misinterpreted your signals that night." He winced at the glare Methos gave him. "And I'll do anything I can to make it up to you. But Joe's right; you're a man and Immortals are sterile. You can't be pregnant."

Methos gave him a look combining exasperation and condescension. "And this is based on your vast four-hundred-year knowledge, right?"

"No, dammit!" Duncan said, losing his temper. "It's based on common sense, man! You _can't_ be pregnant!"

"You think not?" Methos pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. "Hello. Can you tell me if Dr. Fremont is in his office this week? Is he available for a consult? Tell him it's Dr. Ben Adams. Yes, I'll wait." He was silent for a moment, not looking at the other two men. "An hour? Yes, I can make it. Thank you very much."

Closing his phone, he looked at Duncan. "Coming? Julian's office is across town. We have to leave now to make it in time."

Duncan stood up quickly. "Where are we going?" he asked uneasily, wondering what Methos was up The feeling that he was the butt of one of Methos' jokes was starting to war with the sick sensation in his stomach. In fact, this had Amanda's fingerprints all over it -- obviously revenge for the whole Keane incident -- and when he got the two of them in private, he was going to make them _both_ very, very sorry.

"You want proof, I'll give you proof," Methos said cryptically, heading towards the door. "Coming, Joe?"

Joe stood, grinning from ear to ear. Apparently he'd figured out that it was a practical joke, too, and had decided that Duncan deserved it after what he'd put them through. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

 

* * *

 

An hour later, they walked into an elegantly outfitted office in an upscale part of the city.  Methos talked briefly with the receptionist and then stood looking at the pictures on the walls, pointedly ignoring the other two men. Duncan and Joe exchanged an uneasy look. This place felt like a real doctor's office, but Amanda had been known to go to great lengths for a joke. A few minutes later, Duncan stiffened and turned toward the door that led into the main offices, and Joe looked over, expecting to see the Immortal woman grinning at them. Instead, a handsome man who looked to be in his late thirties entered.

"Ben!" he said with a smile, his hand out to shake Methos'. "It's been a long time -- too long. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I'm afraid I'm in need of your...unique knowledge," he said, returning the handshake.

"And these two gentlemen are with you?"

Methos nodded briefly. "Joe Dawson and Duncan MacLeod."

Julian Fremont held out his hand. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod?" he asked with a smile. "I've heard about you." He turned to Joe and shook his hand as well, then gestured toward the door he'd come through. "Shall we go into my office?  We can talk privately there."

Once they were in the office, Julian perched on the corner of his desk and smiled at Methos. "Now Ben, what can I do for you?  It is still Ben, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's Adam Pierson now, but these guys know who I really am," Methos said. "I need you to run a blood test on me, Juls."

Julian frowned. "Looking for...?"

Methos sighed. "A month ago, Mac and I shared a Quickening."

"Ah," Julian said, nodding in understanding.

"And I raped him," Duncan said bluntly.

Julian looked keenly at Duncan. "Mr. MacLeod, if you're aware of the effects of a shared Quickening, then you know rape is impossible."

Methos tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "He doesn't know anything about it."

Julian gave Methos an amused look. "And you didn't tell him anything, did you? Still the same loveable, manipulative bastard as always?"

Methos smirked. "I try."

"You're the last one I would have thought this would happen to," Julian said frankly. "MacLeod here must be pretty special."

Methos flushed but didn't say anything. Exasperated, Joe said, "Would you two please tell us what the hell is going on here? Why Me- Adam thinks he's pregnant?"

"Let me get the sample first so we can see where we stand," Julian said. "Make a fist, my friend _._ "

Methos made a face but obligingly held his arm out. Julian expertly drew blood, labeled it, and took it down the hall to the lab. When Julian returned, he said, "We'll know shortly."

Duncan frowned. "This is some kind of joke, isn't it? Amanda put you two up to this."

Julian shook his head. "This isn't a joke, MacLeod. It's serious. Incredibly serious."

"Skip the drama, Julian," Methos said sharply, then glanced over at Duncan and sighed. "Under certain circumstances, when two Immortals share a Quickening and then have sex, it is possible for one of them to become pregnant. In other words, 'wham, bam, thank you very much, MacLeod'."

Julian gave Methos a reproving look, and then looked at Duncan. "It's more complicated than that. First of all, the 'window of opportunity' following a shared Quickening is very short, only a few hours. And there has to be a connection, a bond, between the two parties involved, which is why rape is impossible. Only if penetrative sexual intercourse occurs under those circumstances does pregnancy take place. No matter the gender of the two parties involved."

Duncan looked stunned. "Why haven't I heard of this before now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Joe said. "There's no record...." He paused, realizing what he was about to say.

Julian smiled. "There's a very good reason for the secrecy. And Watchers don't know everything, Mr. Dawson -- or need to know."

Joe narrowed his eyes. "You know about Watchers?"

Julian looked amused. "Of course. One of the first things Methos taught me when I became his student almost two thousand years ago."

Duncan blinked. "You're two thousand years old?"

Julian nodded. "I was a physician in Rome before my First Death. But that's not important. What _is_ important is that this be kept secret. If it became common knowledge, there are some Immortals who'd try to create armies of their own progeny, even though it's doubtful that they could."

"Why not?" Joe asked, staggered by the implications.

Julian glanced over at Methos but he was staring silently at the ceiling again. "Because of that bond I mentioned earlier," Julian said. "It has to exist before the shared Quickening takes place. And it's a very close bond, not necessarily sexual although there's usually mutual attraction between the two Immortals. This is the kind of bond where the two are willing to give up their lives for each other. You have to admit that kind of relationship is extremely rare between Immortals, even if they are lovers."

Duncan nodded. Even among the pairs he knew, they were more likely to want to avenge a lover's demise rather than die in their place.

"It _has_ to exist because, for the duration of pregnancy, the pregnant Immortal's normal healing energies are involved in sustaining what is, essentially, an abnormal life form -- the child. The host's own healing power is diminished-"

Cold fear touched Duncan's heart. "How diminished?"

"A simple cut can take hours to heal. More severe injuries can take several days to recover from and have lingering effects. In addition, taking a Quickening can be detrimental to the baby, and too many Quickenings can result in permanent damage or death of the child," Julian said frankly. "Because of this, it is vital that the other parent be prepared to protect his partner and child,  to the death, if necessary."

"You're exaggerating," Methos said impatiently. "You told me that Viviane lost her husband before they even knew about the child, and she managed just fine on her own."

"Viviane spent the entire time on Holy Ground," Julian reminded Methos. "And that was fifteen-hundred years ago. Not to mention she nearly lost the boy later when that crazy Saxon wanted a bit of a sacrifice and went looking for a 'demon-fathered' child."

"That's beside the point," Methos argued.

Duncan thought the two were going to be side-tracked by their argument but then the intercom buzzed.  Julian picked up the phone and listened for a moment, thanked the nurse on the other end, and hung it up.

"Well, it's official. Congratulations, old man - you're going to be a mother."

Methos glared at him. "Very funny. What in hell am I going to do now?"

Julian moved behind his desk, scribbling something on a pad. "First of all, you need to eat more. You're way too thin right now. If nausea is bothering you, here's a prescription that will help. Second, I'll expect to see you in here every two weeks, just to make sure that everything is going well. Miss an appointment and I'll track you down personally and make you sorry - and you know I can do it."

Methos made a face as he took the prescription. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"And _you_ can make me suffer for that later," Julian said with a grin, then added kindly, "Go home, Methos. You look like you could use the rest." His eyes flicked briefly to Duncan's with an unspoken message, and he nodded in response. Methos snorted and headed out the door. "Mr. Dawson, a pleasure meeting you -- and I don't believe I need to emphasize the necessity of keeping this a secret?"

Joe and Julian exchanged a long look.  Joe nodded. "I never heard a word said in here."

"Thank you." As Joe followed Methos, Julian said quietly, "Mr. MacLeod, a moment of your time, please?"

"Of course." He felt uncomfortable alone with Methos' former student, knowing how he would feel if he'd heard someone had wronged Connor like this.  He was surprised to feel a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault, Mr. MacLeod," Julian said quietly. "You had no idea what could occur. The compulsion is _very_ strong. And  brooding won't do Methos any good."

Duncan nodded. "What _can_ I do?"

"Be there for him," Julian said simply. "This will be hard on the old man. He doesn't deal well with being dependent on someone else. And I was very serious about how dangerous this can be, both for him and the child."

Duncan smile wryly. "I'll do what I can but I'm not exactly his favorite person right now."

Julian's mouth curved into a smile. "Oh, I expect he'll milk the situation for all he can, but just remember one thing: it couldn't have happened if he didn't feel very deeply."

MacLeod flushed at that but Methos was shouting for him so he couldn't say more. With a last handshake, he followed the other two out.

   


	5. Chapter 5

 

The three men were silent on the trip back across the city. Methos sprawled in the back seat of the car, brooding, and the other two men decided it was better to let him be.

Duncan dropped Joe off first and, with a significant look at the silent man in the back, Joe told Duncan to call him later. Duncan nodded in acknowledgement, then headed towards Methos' apartment. Methos seemed to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him as Duncan parked the car out in front of the building, and he hurriedly got out of the car.

"Thanks for the lift, Mac," he called out, heading towards the stairs. "I'll see you around - maybe at Joe's tomorrow night."

Duncan ignored the attempted brush-off, following Methos into his apartment. "We have to talk," he said, shutting the door behind him.

Methos crossed his arms defensively across his chest and glared at Duncan. " _We_ do not have to do anything. _You_ , on the other hand, have to get out.  Preferably before I throw something pointed at you."

Duncan ignored this. "The first thing we have to decide is whether you're moving onto the barge with me, whether I'm moving in here, or whether we should look for another place."

Methos' mouth dropped open. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No. Getting a larger place would be a good idea. Look at both of our places: bachelor fare, hardly the place for a family."

"Fam -" Methos glared at Duncan. "We are _not_ a family, and we are not going to _be_ a family! If you think for one moment that just because you knocked me up it means I'm going to happily settle down as Mrs. Duncan MacLeod, then you've got another think coming!"

"I think nothing of the sort," Duncan said quietly. "But the fact of the matter is that this is my fault, and I'm going to do my best to take care of you until the child is born."

Methos threw up his hands in exasperation. "Great! The one thing lacking in this whole mess: Scottish guilt and a full-out MacLeod brood!"

"Methos -"

"I can bloody well take care of myself, thank you very much! Been doing it for five thousand years _without_ your help, and a damn fine job of it, too!"

"Methos, you heard what the doctor said. In your condition, you can't risk taking a Quickening."

"And I went without taking one of those for two hundred years!" Methos pointed out. "In fact, I was doing damn fine until a certain Highlander came poking his nose into my business!"

"You were lucky," Duncan said crisply. "You can't count on being able to shoot all challengers, or on running away from them."

"So you plan on taking my challenges?" Methos snapped. "No, thank you very much, MacLeod. End of discussion, and don't let the door hit you in the arse on the way out."

"Methos -"

Methos turned on Duncan, intent on reaming him, but the sudden movement made his stomach lurch. "Bloody hell!"

He made it into the bathroom in time to throw up what little he'd managed to eat earlier, and his stomach continuing to heave distressingly until he thought he would vomit up the lining. He was barely aware of the strong arm bracing him as he hung over the toilet, or the hand moving in soothing circles over his back, but when the worst of the nausea had passed, he was grateful for the cup of water that appeared in front of his face. He rinsed out his mouth, and then sighed contentedly as a cool cloth wiped down his face and neck.

"Better?" Methos managed to nod. "Good. Let's get you into bed and I'll get that prescription filled for you, all right?"

Methos wanted to protest that he could take care of himself, that he didn't need any help, but as Duncan helped him up from the floor, his legs wobbled distressingly. He couldn't resist the strong arm that wrapped around him and guided him over to the bed, not without taking a nosedive and looking like a fool. And he didn't protest as Duncan stripped him down to T-shirt and shorts.  It was too much of an effort and he needed to save his energy for future confrontations. Besides, it felt good to slide down under the covers and curl around the pillow. He was so tired, and between the nausea and the nightmares, he had hardly slept during the past week. Methos allowed his eyes to drift shut.

"This doesn't change anything," he said sleepily. "I'm still mad at you."

"I know," Duncan said softly, picking up the scattered clothes and putting them away.

"And I am _not_ moving onto the barge. I _hate_ the water."

"I know."

Duncan looked through the cabinets in the kitchen and frowned at the bleak state of affairs. He began composing a shopping list, trying to think of what exactly an expectant 'mother' should be eating at this stage. Fruits and vegetables of course -- and would Methos actually eat a salad or throw it at his head? Milk, he was certain about that. And what about meat? Dr. Fremont could probably give him some guidelines; he'd have to call him and see what he recommended. He suspected Methos would need a vitamin supplement so he could discuss that with Julian at the same time. And maybe while he was out picking up the prescription he should look at one of those pregnancy books, too. Anne had raved about one of them; the title escaped him but he expected the clerk in the bookstore would know.

"Not enough hot water." Methos was still talking, his voice cross. "I like _lots_ of hot water."

Duncan couldn't help grinning at that. "I never would have guessed."  He opened the fridge, shaking his head as he saw it was nearly empty. A half-empty carton of milk with a questionable expiration date was tossed into the trash. The remaining two beers of a six-pack joined it, and he could hardly wait to hear what Methos would say about that. More items were added to his mental list.

"Damn right," Methos muttered, half asleep. "Mistake...should have known better..."

There was silence after that, and Duncan walked over to the bed and saw that Methos was finally asleep. He stood for a moment looking down at the man who looked so impossibly young when he slept, and then brushed a lock of hair away from Methos' face.

"Ah, Methos," he said softly. "Not a mistake. You'll see.  It'll all turn out in the end."

There was no answer from the sleeping man, not that he expected one. Grabbing the key for the apartment, he headed off on his errands.


	6. Chapter 6

Methos woke to a semi-dark apartment, aware that he was not alone.  The scent of food cooking was enough to make his stomach lurch, despite the fact that it was empty, but before he could think about making a dash for the bathroom, Duncan was at his side.

"Eat these. No, don't sit up. Just eat them lying down. Slowly."

Methos glared at Duncan but he took the offered crackers and ate them slowly. It wasn't easy to choke down the dry wafers but Duncan was watching him like a hawk and he had the feeling that the man would force-feed him if necessary. Duncan made an approving noise when Methos finished the last one and helped him sit up before handing him a capsule and a glass of juice.

"This should help, but the pharmacist said you'll need to give it about half an hour before you try doing handstands."

Methos gave him a sour look. "Very funny." He glanced over at the couch, noticing that a hastily discarded book sat on the cushion. "Made yourself right at home, I see."

"I thought that after all the times I let you crash at the loft and the barge you owed me," Duncan said tranquilly, carrying the glass into the kitchen and checking on the progress of dinner.

"I owe _you_? I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you!" Methos said indignantly.

Duncan sighed and turned back to face the older Immortal. "I know that. And I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry about what happened." Thinking that his words might not have come across right, he said hastily, "Not that the sex was anything I regret - it was incredible. Just that I'm sorry you don't remember, that you think I would rape you." He paused. "You don't really think I would do that, do you?"

Methos' eyes were inscrutable as he stared at Duncan from the bed. "Why not? You find it easy to believe that I could be a rapist."

Duncan shook his head. "Maybe at one time, but not now, not the Methos I know." He lifted his head and met Methos' eyes squarely. "Times were different. _You_ were different."

Their eyes met for a long moment, and then a reluctant smile curved Methos' mouth. "Whatever you're cooking smells good."

Duncan smiled, relieved by the loss of tension in the room. "It's chicken casserole."

Methos blinked in surprise. "I didn't think I had enough supplies on hand for a casserole."

"I did a little shopping while you slept."

Duncan's innocent tone aroused Methos' suspicions, and he flung back the covers and got out of bed. He opened the cabinet doors and stared at the contents. "A _little_ shopping? Did you leave anything for the _rest_ of Paris?"

Duncan shrugged. "You're going to need a lot more food now that you're eating for two."

Methos gave him a quick glare. "Don't remind me." He opened the refrigerator and whistled. "Mac, I think you went a little overboard." Then his eyes narrowed and he looked around at Duncan. "Where's my beer?"

Duncan cleared his throat. "About that.  I did a little reading, and talked to your doctor..."

Methos advanced on Duncan and he backed up slowly. "Where's my beer?"

"And he wants you on a strict diet, one that includes juice and water and milk."

"Where's. My. Beer?"

Methos advanced until Duncan was pinned against the wall. "I threw it out."

"You -" Methos stared at him, aghast. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"You can't have alcohol while you're pregnant.  It's bad for the baby."

Methos' eyes darkened. "I'll tell you what would be _worse_ for the baby - me being in jail because I killed his father!"

Duncan raised his hands in a placating manner as he retreated. "I'm serious. Even moderate drinking could cause fetal alcohol syndrome. You know about that, don't you?"

Methos continued to advance. "What I know is that because _you_ couldn't keep it in your pants, _I_ have to go without beer for - how long?"

Duncan winced.  "Eight months."

"Eight _months_? You're joking!"

Duncan decided to get all the bad news out at once. "And you can't have caffeine either."

Methos halted, an appalled look on his face. "No coffee? Oh, you are such a dead man when I get my hands on you, MacLeod!"

Duncan dodged, scrambling over the bed to the relative safety of the other side. "Let's talk about this reasonably, Methos. You don't want to kill me. In the first place, think about the mess it'll make, the damage to your books."

Methos stalked him around the room. "Oh, I don't plan on _permanently_ killing you. Just temporarily -- say five or six times."

"The blood - you'll never get it all out of the flooring." Duncan feinted in one direction.

"I'll move." Methos pretended to go for the feint but, when Duncan doubled back the other way, Methos was waiting and took him down.

"You hate moving," Duncan pointed out when he could catch his breath, pinned to the floor under the weight of the other Immortal.

"I'll get over it."

Duncan heaved upward with his arms and rolled so that the other Immortal was now pinned. "Methos, be reasonable."

"I don't want to be reasonable. I want a beer!" Methos reached up behind him and grabbed something off the couch, a book by the feel of it. He intended to bean the other Immortal with it but the cover caught his attention. "What to Expect When You're Expecting? Bloody hell, Mac - you didn't buy this!"

Duncan cautiously released the other man since Methos seemed to be past his homicidal urge and sat back on his knees. He'd have to discuss these reactions with Julian Fremont. Maybe it was some kind of hormonal imbalance making Methos react violently like this, twice in one day.

"I did," he said, indicating the book. "The shop clerk recommended it and a couple others." He gestured towards the books on the table.

Methos groaned and covered his face with one hand as he dropped the book. "I don't believe this! My life as I know it is over, and you're buying into baby-boomer propaganda!"

"But Methos, there's a lot of good information in these," Duncan protested, picking up the discarded book. "Look! Diet, exercises, choosing a doctor, minimizing stretch marks..."

"Lovely," Methos said sourly, sitting up. "The things I have to look forward to. Mac, did it ever occur to you that these might not help because they're for _women_ and I'm a _man_?"

Duncan gave him a stubborn look. "Pregnant is pregnant. And a difference that makes no difference -"

"- is no difference," Methos finished. There was an expression on his face that Duncan couldn't interpret. "You're really determined to do this, aren't you?"

"If by 'this' you mean that I'm going to be with you, support you, in every way I can, then yes. I'm determined."

"And if I leave town? Disappear?"

"I'll find you." Leaning forward, locking eyes with the older Immortal, he said firmly, "My mind is made up, Methos. I was there at the start, and I'll be here for as long as you need me."

"Why?" Methos asked, not breaking eye contact.

"Because we're friends. Because I'm responsible."

Methos broke contact then, looking away as his lips twisted slightly, and Duncan got the feeling he'd said something wrong. But before he could say more, Methos pushed  to his feet.

"Right. That casserole smells delicious and I'm starving. Let's eat."

Duncan got to his feet, a frown on his face as he studied the other Immortal. He knew that look and tone of voice. Both were masks Methos donned when he was deliberately trying to steer the subject away from something that made him feel vulnerable. And he also knew there was no way he was going to penetrate that brittle shield - not today, at any rate.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Dinner was a pleasant enough meal as Methos maintained a string of idle chatter that did nothing to quiet Duncan's concern. Whatever it was that he didn't want Duncan to know, it must be BIG and Methos certainly wasn't going to slip and give it away. Duncan had a feeling there was something more behind Methos' reluctant acceptance of this unexpected situation and made up his mind to talk to Dr. Fremont privately as soon as possible.

He got his next jolt of surprise after dinner when Methos carried the dishes to the sink and said, airily, "No need to help with the washing up, Mac. I can handle this lot. In fact, why don't you just toddle on home and let me have at it."

"Go home?" Duncan said blankly.

"Yes. You know - the barge? The place where you - not to mention countless women - lay your head at night?" Methos said with a smirk. "Dinner was lovely and I appreciate the shopping, but frankly, I'm not in the mood for company tonight."

Duncan crossed his arms, frowning at the other man. "What are you up to, Methos?"

"Me?" Methos said innocently. "Nothing. I'm going to clear up and then crawl into bed."

"At eight o'clock at night?"

"I don't know about you, but it's been a hell of a day. I intend to sleep for at least fifteen hours once you're gone. Unless you want to help me put on my jammies and tuck me into bed?"

"I don't want to leave you here alone," Duncan objected. "What if some Immortal comes along and challenges you?"

"In my apartment in the middle of the night?" Methos scoffed. "Unlike you, I am _not_ a magnet for Hunters. _Years_ can safely pass between Immortal visits to my abode - well, except for your happy little family of troublemakers. I'll be perfectly fine."

Duncan looked doubtful. "I can sleep on your couch -"

"No, thank you very much," Methos said with insincere politeness, and Duncan restrained an urge to throttle the irritating man. "Go home, Mac. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow - _after_ noon."

Duncan sighed. "All right." He picked up his coat and shrugged into it, heading for the door. Standing in the open doorway, he turned to Methos. "I want you to lock up behind me."

"MacLeod -"

"I'm serious. I'm not leaving until I hear the lock."

Methos gave up and crossed to the door, closing it loudly behind Duncan and snapping the locks on. "There!" he called through the door. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," came the reply through the door. "Good night, old man. Sleep well."

Touched despite himself, Methos leaned against the door and murmured, "You, too, Duncan." Then he shook himself, scowling as he headed for the shower. "Just because your hormones are running rampant, there's no point in getting sentimental," he snarled at himself. "He told you what this is all about: his Boy Scout code of ethics.  So act your age, for God's sake!"

An hour later, showered but certainly not dressed for bed, Methos cautiously opened the door to his flat and looked outside. There was no sign of Duncan, no sense of his Presence anywhere around. He couldn't find his car keys -- MacLeod must have hidden them -- but at this time of night he shouldn't have any problem getting a taxi. He locked the door behind him and cheerfully went down to the street to hail a cab.

The club wasn't very crowded when he entered, not that he was surprised by that. It was early and the middle of the week to boot. Joe had apparently finished his first set and was behind the bar now, and he greeted Methos with a smile.

"Adam! Didn't expect to see you tonight. Where's your watchdog?"

"Home, I hope. He's been haunting my flat all afternoon and driving me crazy." He watched as Joe popped the cap on a frosty brown bottle and slid it towards him. "Thanks, Joe. You're a lifesaver. You won't _believe_ the kind of stuff Mac wants me to drink."

Joe gave him an amused look. "Wanna bet?"

The warning came too late, and Methos spewed a mouthful of foamy liquid across the top of the bar. "What _is_ this shit?"

"Root beer," Joe said blandly. "Mac dropped off a case of it earlier, just for you."

" _Root beer_? Are you _crazy_?" Methos demanded, then changed his tone to a plaintive wheedle. "Come on, Joe! One beer. That's all I'm asking. Just one."

"Not on your life. Mac would have _my_ head."

"I'm begging, Joe. You really don't want to see a five-thousand-year-old man cry, do you?"

"No dice, pal. Root beer or water, and that's it."

Methos groaned and laid his head down on the bar, banging his forehead against it several times. The tingle of Immortal presence made him pause, but the familiarity and youthfulness of the signature made him relax and he didn't even look up as Richie slid onto the stool next to him.

Richie looked over at the oldest Immortal, still leaning his head against the bar's surface, and then at Joe. "What's wrong with him?"

Joe snorted. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

Richie shrugged and then caught sight of the bottle on the bar and picked it up. "I.B.C. Root beer!" he said in surprise. "Hey, this is the really good stuff - and impossible to find over here. How'd you get hold of this, Joe?"

"Ask Mac, he's the one who found it," Joe said with an amused glance at Methos. "And before you ask for one, it's private stock, just for Adam."

Richie gave Methos a surprised look. "I didn't know you liked this stuff."

"It's an acquired taste," Methos said sourly. "One I'm apparently _going_ to acquire." He took another swallow from the bottle and shuddered.

Richie shrugged and gave up trying to figure out the old Immortal's cryptic words. Picking up his bottle of beer, he spun around on his stool and looked around the room.  A smile lit up his face. "Excuse me, guys, but I see an old friend - one I'd like to get acquainted with."

Joe snorted as he caught sight of the redhead that had caught Richie's attention. "Just be careful, kid."

Richie grinned. "Hey, what could happen, Joe? It's not like I could get her pregnant."

"Lucky for you," Methos said sourly, and Richie ignored him as he sauntered after the redhead.

Joe gave Methos a sharp look and picked up a cloth, wiping down the counter. "You sound a little bitter, my friend."

Methos snorted. "Wouldn't you be, in my place?"

"Hell, no. Think of it, Adam. You're going to experience something that practically no other man has."

"Yeah: bloated belly, nausea, swollen feet, stretch marks..."

"A new life growing inside you," Joe interrupted. "Pretty amazing, if you ask me." Methos was silent, studying his bottle. "Mac's happy about it -- or would be, if you'd lay off the guilt-trip."

"Mac's not carrying the bloody thing," Methos retorted. "And he's living in a fantasy world. Mac is picturing some blissful future raising his son or daughter, something that can't possibly happen."

Joe's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Joe! You know what our lives are like! It's hard enough to survive on our own.  Imagine what it would be like trying to raise a _child_."

"Immortals have adopted children and raised them," Joe pointed out.

"It's dangerous, Joe, for both us and the child. Can you imagine what Mac's enemies would do if they found out he had a child? And don't try to tell me that he wouldn't give up his own head for the child's life." Quietly, he added, "Why do you think pre-Immortals are given to mortals to raise?"

Joe straightened. "Are you trying to tell me that _this_ is where Immortals come from?"

Methos shook his head. "Not most of them, no.  Frankly, I'm as in the dark on that as everyone else. I've only heard of a dozen children like this in _my_ lifetime."

"And all of them were given up for adoption?"

Methos sighed. "Not all of them, no."

"But it's what you plan to do."

Methos shrugged. "It's the smart thing. The odds of a single Immortal parent being able to raise a pre-Immortal child without endangering both their lives are very low. And you know that survival is pretty high on my list of priorities."

Joe studied Methos across the bar. "You wouldn't have to do this alone. Together you and Duncan would have a pretty good chance."

Methos shook his head. "There is no _together_ , Joe. You know that."

"There could be if you told him how you feel."

Methos looked up at Joe, his eyes sharp on the other man's face. "What -"

"Don't even bother trying to deny it. I've seen your face when he comes in the room."

Methos flushed and dropped his head, staring intently at his bottle as he rubbed his fingers over the raised lettering. "He doesn't know, does he?"

Joe snorted. "Mac? You'd have to hit him over the head with a clue-by-four. Which might not be a bad idea."

Methos shook his head again. "I might have said something before, but not now. You know how Mac is. If he knew how I felt about him, on top of this, he'd insist on getting married or some such nonsense."

"Would that be such a bad idea?"

"Yes!" Methos said emphatically. "You know his history. Can you honestly imagine MacLeod committing to one person - and a man at that? The romantic in him might be attracted by the idea, but the realist..." He shook his head. "And as for me, I've been married many times, but never to one of _us_."

"Why not?" Joe asked. "It can't be fear of commitment on _your_ part. You were with the Horsemen for a thousand years, and I saw how you were with Alexa. Oh," Joe said suddenly as the light bulb went on. "I see. You're afraid you wouldn't be able to walk away, even if it got bad."

Methos nodded, his eyes still on the bottle in his hands. "It took me a couple hundred years to leave the Horsemen, even though I lost the heart for that life long before Cassandra."

"Were you and Kronos..." Joe broke off uncertainly.

Methos snorted. "Hardly. I might have been crazy but I wasn't stupid. He had enough hold over my life without adding _that_ to the mix."

"Care to talk about it?" Joe asked quietly.

"Not really." Methos drained the rest of his bottle and set it aside. "Suffice it to say that Kronos found me during a rough time in my life, got me out of a very bad situation. I was grateful, and angry at the world, and he gave me a focus for that rage. After the anger burned out of me, I stayed because I liked the challenge of plotting our next campaign. After even that got old, after I got tired of all the death and destruction, I stayed because I couldn't just walk away. And because Kronos wouldn't _let_ me. He always was a possessive bastard."

He gave Joe a curious look. "Doesn't it bother you to hear this?"

"I'm not MacLeod," Joe said pointedly.

A slight smile touched Methos' lips. "No, you're not. Thanks, Joe."

Joe smiled. "What're friends for, huh?" He gestured at the empty root beer bottle. "You want another drink?

"Tempting as that offer sounds," Methos said sarcastically, "I'll pass. In fact, I think I'll head home. It's been a hell of a day."

"Want me to call a cab?"

Methos shook his head as he stood. "I'll walk. It's a nice night and I don't have far to go."

"Adam -"

"Don't lecture me, Joe. That's Mac's job."

Joe laughed at that and said goodnight, and Methos made his way out to the street.

He stood there for a long moment, enjoying the slightly chilly air after the warm bar, and tilted his head back to look up at the sky. The city lights kept him from being able to see more than the brightest stars, but he still took comfort in the sight of them above him. During five thousand years, the patterns in the sky above him had changed somewhat, but not nearly as much as the world or people around him. He found their presence comforting, a sort of touchstone, even if it made him feel incredibly lonely.

He sighed. Somewhere nearby, just on the edge of his senses, was the  tingle of Immortal presence, but it was far enough away that he wasn't worried. Pulling his coat closer around his body, he started walking in the direction of his flat, trying to think of nothing but trivia. There was a special-order book he needed to pick up tomorrow, and he'd have to hunt up his spare keys tonight so he could be out of there before Duncan showed up on his doorstep. And he needed to arrange for the things he'd put into storage in Seacouver to be shipped here...

The sudden flare of Immortal presence caught his attention just as a car screeched to a halt next to him. Methos spun, hand on his sword as he prepared to defend himself, and then his eyes widened as he recognized the driver.

"Julian?"

His old friend and former student gave him a displeased look. "I just spent an interesting hour talking with your friend, MacLeod. Who, by the way, thinks you are safely tucked in at home. Fortunately, I know you better. Get in."

Methos sighed and sheathed his sword. "Julian -"

"I said get in! Now!"

Methos gave up and circled round to the passenger side, scowling at the other Immortal as he got into the car. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I was doing it for three thousand years before you were born."

Julian just snorted at that and pulled away from the curb, heading for Methos' apartment.

And in the shadows of the street behind them, Duncan MacLeod frowned as he returned his katana to its sheath.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Julian followed Methos up to his flat and looked around the place with interest. "Not as nice as the last place, but not bad."

"Thanks," Methos said and then, as Julian hung up his coat, added pointedly, "Make yourself at home and don't mind me. I certainly wasn't going to bed anytime soon."

"Well, you should," Julian said "You could use the rest."

"Don't _you_ start in on me!" Methos warned. "I'm on a short fuse tonight.  And what brings you here? Just in the neighborhood?"

"You might say that." Julian settled on the couch and looked up at his mentor. "I was visiting with your friend, MacLeod. Funny that you live in the same general neighborhood, isn't it?"

Methos met his friend's inquisitive eyes and his own narrowed. "Is it? _I_ moved here because it's close to Joe's club and his beer. And what exactly were you and MacLeod discussing?  The baby?  The new heir to the Clan MacLeod?"

"Actually, he talked about you," Julian said, not paying attention to Methos' bad mood. "He's worried about you, my friend."

"Me? Why? What did you talk about?"

"Your health. Your safety. And walking home alone at this time of night wasn't exactly the smartest decision you could make."

Methos snorted. "Yeah, well, I seem to be making a lot of errors in judgment lately." He gestured towards his body. "Obviously."

"I agree that it's not like you to make such a drastic change in your life.  Since you obviously aren't a couple, what happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened? Isn't it obvious? We shared a Quickening and then had sex. One month later I'm throwing up my guts and you're telling me the rabbit died. What don't you understand?"

"You're not impressing me, you know," Julian said mildly. "Unlike MacLeod, I've known you too long to get caught up in one of your tantrums. So stop being such a snot, and sit down and talk to me."

Methos glared at him for a moment, then his sense of humor surfaced and he plopped down gracelessly on the couch next to Julian. "Damn, but it's good to see you again, Juls!"

"Flattery won't get you out of this. Come on, Methos. I want the whole story."

Methos leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "He came looking for me."

Julian stiffened. "He was Hunting you?"

Methos shook his head. "Another Immortal, Kalas, was hunting Methos. I was hidden away in the Watchers, lead researcher on the Methos Chronicles.  Joe thought Kalas might come after 'Adam' for information, so he sent MacLeod to help me." A slow smile spread across his face. "He walked into my flat and he _knew_ me."

"You mean he knew you were an Immortal."

Methos shook his head, still staring at the ceiling. "No, he knew I was Methos. He offered me his protection. I can't remember anyone else _ever_ doing that. Of course I said no. Then I ended up offering him my head."

Julian stared. "You can't be serious!"

"I am. Kalas was after me and I didn't want him to have my Quickening.  And I was so damned tired of it all, so I offered MacLeod my head. He turned me down." He sighed. "I fell hard, Juls."

"I'm not surprised. He's quite charismatic." Julian got up and walked into the kitchen, bringing back a glass of juice for each of them. Methos accepted his with a grimace but sipped at it. "So why aren't the two of you together?"

"He doesn't feel that way about me."

"He obviously does or you wouldn't be in this  condition."

Methos frowned. "Just because we did it _once_ \- and under the influence of a shared Quickening - doesn't mean a thing. You know the bond doesn't require a romantic connection."

"But it helps."

"Believe me, MacLeod isn't looking for any kind of romantic relationship with me. The day before this happened, he was bouncing the springs with Cassandra, and this past month the lovely Amanda's been occupying his time."

Julian stiffened at the mention of the witch. "Cassandra? She's not the one..."

Methos shook his head. "No. Another old friend. Kronos."

"I thought the bastard was dead."

"He is now," Methos said flatly. "They're all dead, all except me."

"Silas?"

"By my hand, at the same time MacLeod dispatched Kronos."

"I'm sorry, my friend," Julian said sincerely. "I know that must have been difficult for you." Methos nodded silently. "So it wasn't just a shared Quickening, it was a shared _double_ Quickening? I've never heard of that. I'd be interested in seeing what effect that has on..."

"Oh no, you don't!" Methos said quickly. "Find someone else to experiment on!"

Julian laughed. "You are such a big baby! All right, I'll keep my hands off -- as long as you behave yourself. I've got a prescription for a vitamin supplement, a diet plan to follow, and I expect you in my office every other week."

Methos scowled. "I already promised you that. What do you want, a note signed in blood?"

"There's a thought," Julian said then added, "Methos, you need someone to support you during this. I'd really like you to work out whatever problem you have with MacLeod."

Methos' face closed abruptly. "None of your business, Julian."

"I'm _making_ it my business," Julian said firmly. "For God's Sake, you don't have to tell him you love him, just let him give you the support he desperately wants to give. And stop tying his nuts in a knot over _how_ the baby came about."

"You aren't going to let go of this, are you?" Methos asked, resigned. "If I promise to make nice with MacLeod, will you go away and let me get some sleep?"

"All you had to do was ask." He walked to the door and looked back at Methos. "I want to hear the locks turn when I close this door."

Methos rolled his eyes. "What _is_ it with you two? Did you and Mac attend a special seminar at ‘Over-protectors ‘R Us'?"

"Just comes naturally," Julian said with a grin. "Remember, get that vitamin prescription filled in the morning, take it easy, and I'll call you with your appointment day and time."

"Yes, Mother," Methos said mockingly. Then as Julian started to leave, Methos reached out to touch his arm. "Thanks, Julian. I really appreciate what you're trying to do."

"Don't mention it," Julian said, smiling. "Just wait till you get my bill and see what I charge for house calls."

Methos laughed and said a final good-night, then locked the door securely behind the doctor. Feeling better than he had in days, he crawled into bed and fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Clattering pots and pans woke Methos and he sat bolt upright in bed. "What the hell?"

"Morning," Duncan said from the kitchen.

"Yes, it is," Methos snapped. "I thought I said _noon_. And how did you get in?"

"What's the matter, stay out too late last night?" Duncan brought him water and his pills.

Methos glared at him as he took the medicine. "Who spilled, Joe or Richie? And I didn't realize you were my keeper."

"You need one. It's dangerous for you to walk alone. What if you'd been challenged?"

Methos sighed. "I had my gun with me. And I _do_ know how to run the other way when I feel Immortal presence."

Duncan returned to the kitchen, snatching up a pan and tossing it into the sink as he did. "You can't always count on getting away. What if Dr. Fremont had been an enemy instead?"

Methos' eyes narrowed. "You were following me?" he asked incredulously.

"I went to Joe's," Duncan said defensively. "I felt Presence..."

"And instead of walking away like a sensible man, you pursued it," Methos said in resignation. "If it'll make you feel any better, Julian read me the riot act for being alone, too."

Duncan jerked open the fridge, making the items in the door rattle. "Considerate of him to give you a ride home."

Methos watched Duncan with interest. He'd seen Duncan display this possessiveness before, with Claudia for one, but he'd never had it turned on him. He didn't know whether to be amused or irritated, but thought that amusement would probably infuriate the Scot more.

He settled back against the headboard of the bed, sipping his water, eyes on Duncan. "Yes, it was, wasn't it?" he asked lightly. "I felt obligated to invite him up after that, of course."

"Of course." Duncan set the eggs on the counter and slammed the door. "Decent manners required you to at least offer him a drink."

"Among other things," Methos said with a smirk. "Not that I've ever been accused of having decent manners." He watched Duncan savagely crack open the eggs and made a mental note to check for shell fragments in his breakfast.

"And as your _personal_ physician, Dr. Fremont felt obligated to check you out?"

_Better and better. First possessive and now jealous_. "Duncan MacLeod!" he said with mock outrage. "I don't like what you're implying. What kind of a guy do you think I am?"

Duncan gave him a look. "You don‘t want me to answer that."

"I'm wounded, MacLeod." Methos got out of bed and retreated to the bathroom with a display of offended dignity, closing the door behind him with a thump.

Duncan stared at the closed door with consternation. He had a suspicion that the old Immortal was playing him, but the fact of the matter was that he had no right to object to anything Methos chose to do. He'd never interfered with any of his previous lovers' amorous escapades, and Methos wasn't even his lover. Nor wanted to be, it appeared, and Duncan couldn't blame him. Despite Julian Fremont's assurances, Duncan was aware he'd taken advantage of Methos in a weak moment., and now Methos was paying the price, going through something he didn't want. The least he could do would be to cut the man some slack.

Duncan sighed and went back into the fridge, ferreting out ingredients for a world-class omelet. From the times Methos had stayed with him, Duncan knew Methos wasn't much for breakfast but circumstances had changed. He  needed to eat breakfast, and Methos had never turned down any meal Duncan cooked.

Methos returned from his shower and knew he was in trouble. Signs of a Highlander guilt-fest were rampant. An omelet and sausages waited on his plate with a stack of toast on the side. Grapefruit had been sliced, separated and sugared, and a pot of herbal tea was steeping.

Methos rubbed his face. "Mac..."

Duncan gave him a smile, a little forced looking. "Sit down and eat before it gets cold."

Methos surrendered. He'd seen this mood and knew the futility of trying to reason with Duncan when he was like this. Best to just accept the fruits of Duncan's labors and wait him out.

"Smells lovely," he said, sitting down at the table. He buttered his toast as he watched Duncan pick at his food, then set down his knife with a sigh. "Mac, Julian is an old friend. The relationship we had was over long ago."

"Do you always have relationships with your students?" Duncan asked sarcastically.

Methos shrugged. "It's the way I teach. You treat your students like they're your children. I make lovers out of mine. It's probably a reflection of the way we were taught ourselves."

"Your teacher was your lover?"

"The first one I remember," Methos said candidly. "If I had one before I took my first head, I don't recall."

The enormity of just how old Methos was hit Duncan again, as it did on occasion when something the man said peeled back that "just a guy" image Methos liked to maintain.

Hesitantly, aware that he was treading on thin ice, Duncan asked, "You don't have to answer this if you don't want, but has this ever happened to you before?"

"What, being in the ‘family way'? No."

"You've heard about it, though?"

Methos sat back in his chair, nodding. "I had friends, close friends, over four thousand years ago. I was about six hundred or so at the time, near as I can figure, and they were fifteen hundred. I knew them as Jamar and Rena."

"And they shared a Quickening."

"Yes. I'd never seen that happen. Like you, I was taught that only one-on-one combat was allowed, but this Immortal ambushed Rena and badly wounded her without challenging, so Jamar felt justified in challenging him. When Jamar took his head, the Quickening went through him and into her. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen."

"And then she got pregnant."

"Yes, but we didn't connect it to the Quickening. Rena's cycles had stopped with First Death as usual, so she wasn't suspicious until about the fourth month when she started feeling movement. We never connected it with the Quickening. Rena and Jakob were the oldest Immortals I'd ever met, and we all thought it had to do with their age."

"What happened to them?"

Methos' face shadowed. "They lived quietly in the wilderness for over a century. The people in the village near them knew they were different but left them alone. Until one day when the head of the village decided he could gain wealth for them all if he told the priests in the city nearby about them. Rena was a healer, had saved the lives of many of the villagers, but not one of them stood by her when the priests came to drag them off.

"I was traveling at the time, stopping by to visit with them every couple of decades, and I returned to find their home ransacked and empty. The villagers were terrified that I'd take revenge, so they killed me and sent for the priests, turning me over to them as well."

Duncan's throat was dry. It was one of an Immortal's worst fears, being turned over to someone who knew what he was and who would use that knowledge to torture him. "How long...?"

"Almost a hundred years. They'd had Rena and Jamar for twenty and thirty years respectively before they accidentally killed them, and they had learned a lot from their mistakes. They knew just how far they could push my body and how to avoid Final Death. By the time Kronos and his friends laid waste to the city, I was quite insane."

The matter-of-fact way that Methos said it made Duncan shudder. "So that's when you joined them?"

Methos nodded. "Caspian was all for taking my head - one crazy man in the group was enough, in his opinion. Silas wanted to keep me and treated me like one of his wounded animals."

"And Kronos?" Duncan's throat wanted to close down over the hated name but he persisted, determined to give Methos a chance.

"Kronos was shrewd. Yes, I was crazy, but crafty with it. Kronos saw that, used it to his advantage. I was so angry at the world that I was ready to be used. And after his first ‘gift' to me, Kronos had my unquestioning loyalty for hundreds of years."

"‘Gift'?" Duncan wasn't sure that he wanted to know, but he had to ask.

Methos' eyes met his. "The village. The descendents of those who had betrayed Rena and Jamar and me. He gave their fate into my hands. And I had every last one of them killed."

Duncan remembered his own rage after Culloden, how he had been crazy with his own need to avenge those slaughtered by the Butcher. He thought about Methos being killed again and again for a hundred years, of the tortures he'd suffered, of the horrible deaths of his friends. All because of fear and greed. And he couldn't find it in his heart to condemn Methos.

"I have no right to judge you," Duncan said quietly. "Having been judged myself and found lacking...."

"MacLeod," Methos said in exasperation.

Duncan gave him a half-smile. "Don't worry, I'm not going to go all broody on you.  What happened to their child?"

Methos smiled. "He'd become a holy man and Immortal long before their betrayal and took to wandering. Eventually, he lost his head to another Immortal, while defending the city he had sworn to protect."

Duncan's eyes widened. "Darius' holy man? The one that caused his ‘Light Quickening'?"

Methos nodded. "All the children of these unions have been...unique. Viviane's son became a great seer and advisor to kings. Others have become great scholars, prophets, leaders, warriors, holy men and women. And none of them are alive today, nor are their parents."

Duncan felt a chill go up his spine. "So you think the Game equalizes things?"

Methos shrugged. "I'm not sure I believe that. But I think children like this, as well as their parents, become easy targets for other Immortals." He yawned and stretched. "And now, since my rest was so rudely interrupted, I'm going back to bed."

Duncan tried to ignore what that image did to his libido. "No, you're not," he said as he started to clear the dishes.

Methos looked at him. "I'm not? And what do you think I'm going to do instead?"

"Exercise."

"Exercise? Are you _insane_?"

"You know, it amazes me that you've lived this long," he said, exasperated. "Don't work out, don't spar - how do you keep your head?"

Methos gave him a tight smile. "My charming personality, of course."

Duncan snorted. "Right. Get your sneakers on. We're going for a brisk walk."

" _You_ may be going for a walk, but I'm going back to bed. Then a visit to the library."

"Julian says you need exercise."

"Julian can get stuffed." Methos lay down and pulled the covers over his head.

Duncan stared at the covered figure for a moment, frowning as he considered tactics. Then he smiled and sat down on the bed. "I picked up an interesting package at the bookstore yesterday. The clerk asked me to give it to you."

Methos emerged from under the covers. "My books? Give, MacLeod."

"They're back at the barge. We'll end up there after our walk."

Methos glared. "That's blackmail."

Duncan smiled. "It is, isn't it?"

"I didn't know you had it in you," Methos admitted, then threw back the covers with a sigh. "All right, all right. I'll walk. Just this once."

His smile broadened. "You'll walk daily."

"Every day?" Methos said, aghast. "You're inhuman, MacLeod!"

"I'll make it up to you," Duncan promised. "I hear Joe's got a new guitar player and they're playing tomorrow night. I'll take you to dinner and then to Joe's afterward. My treat."

"All right," Methos grumbled, fetching his walking shoes and putting them on.

It wasn't until later that he realized that Duncan MacLeod had asked him out on a date.


	10. Chapter 10

Methos leaned his head against the bar, desperately fighting a sick feeling inside. It wasn't nausea from hormonal changes this time, but a combination of fear and anger and regret. It was terror that the one Immortal he'd been foolish enough to lose his heart to might lose his head tonight. And it was sorrow that, if Duncan won, Methos would have lost another old friend.

He reached over the bar and snagged a bottle of whiskey and a glass. As he walked over to a table, he knew that Joe's eyes were on him, but the Watcher didn't say anything as he quietly strummed his guitar. Good; Methos didn't think he could hold a civilized conversation about anything right now, especially concerning the health of the child he was carrying. Still, he avoided looking at Joe, knowing that the mortal's eyes would be full of personal sorrow as well as sympathy for Methos, even though Joe agreed with Duncan on this matter.

Methos sat down in a chair and sloshed the whiskey into a glass. He held it to his lips and grimaced as the smell of the alcohol made his stomach flip. Setting the glass back down on the table, he stared down into the amber liquid and thought back over the past three disastrous days.

It had started out so well. On the evening of their "date", Duncan had taken him to a restaurant Methos hadn't thought would appeal to the Scot, being more eclectic than elegant, the sort of place Methos would have chosen for himself. They'd enjoyed a pleasant meal; Duncan had been in a good mood and had encouraged Methos to tell some of his most amusing and outrageous tales.

When the waiter showed up the check, Methos had realized for the first time that he had talked through a full meal, including dessert, without noticing. He looked up at Duncan with narrowed eyes -- he hated being 'managed' -- but he was reluctant to disrupt the tenuous truce between them over something as minor as Duncan's need to cosset him. And it had been a great meal and even better conversation. The initial discomfort had eased into their usual bantering, and the relief made him feel light-headed. Or maybe it was the look in Duncan's eyes that made his pulse race, a look he'd seen many times during the first year they'd known each other. Considering what lay between them, it was all too disturbing.

So when Duncan had offered him a choice of returning to the barge for coffee and more conversation, or going to the club to hear the new kid play, Methos had jumped at the reprieve. And if he hadn't? If they'd gone back to the barge, had that coffee and talked some more? If he had allowed Duncan to entice him into his bed the way Duncan's eyes were promising he'd do? It might have cracked Methos' heart further, but at least Byron would have still been alive.

He sighed and shook his head at that thought. No, Byron would still have met Mike, would have  enticed the young man to follow him down the garden path to destruction, and Duncan MacLeod would have felt honor-bound to avenge the child's death. George, Lord Byron, played fast and loose with mortal lives, something Duncan couldn't abide, and -- although he hadn't been able to kill his own past lover for that crime -- he would have no compunction about killing Byron for it. For Justice, he had said. And Methos, torn between sorrow for the songs Byron might have sung and sadness for the songs Mike would never write, had moved aside and let Duncan go on to confront Byron. He had placed the life of his student and former lover into the hands of his current love.

Idly, Methos wondered if that was part of the reason for the instant dislike the two men had taken to each other. He'd felt Duncan bristling from the very first moment when Methos had sighted his old friend at the Blues Club and stood up to greet him with a delighted smile.

And Byron was very sensitive to nuances of emotion -- it was what made him a good performer -- and had been unable to resist tweaking Duncan's nose. That casual arm flung over Methos' shoulder, the display of the worst of his bad-boy antics, the deliberate references to their shared past, all were designed to prick MacLeod and infuriate him. Byron had toyed with Duncan the same way he'd toyed with the  men  he'd cuckolded in the past. Only this time Methos knew the poet had met his match.

Methos shuddered. At least he hoped that was the case, but anyone could win on any given day and Byron didn't always play by the rules. He should know; he had taught the man. And wasn't it a hell of a thing when you had to side with either your old lover and student, or the man you now loved more than your own life?

The touch of Immortal presence made him stiffen and he turned to look at the doorway. Duncan came through the curtained entrance and stopped, oddly hesitant. His eyes met Methos' across the room and the old Immortal read the story there all too clearly.

Deliberately, he sat back in his chair and took a sip from the drink in his hand. Duncan slowly approached him and Methos looked up, daring the man to say a word. Duncan didn't, though, just went to the bar, got himself a glass, and returned to the table without saying a word.

"Matter and anti-matter," Methos said abruptly to fill the silence. Was he talking about Byron's life and death, or about Duncan and Byron? Did it really matter now? "Byron knew that, too. His life had become one long tragedy."

Duncan sat down at the table and poured a glass of the whisky. "We all know how those end." He took a swallow.

Methos closed his eyes and stretched out on the bench seat. " 'My task is done, my song has ceased, my theme has died into an echo. It is fit.' " he quoted.

"Methos..." Duncan began.

"Don't," Methos said sharply. "I don't want to talk, I don't want to listen. I just want to _be_."

Duncan nodded silently and picked up his glass, draining it. As he poured another one, he surreptitiously studied the older man. Methos looked sad, which was to be expected since he had just lost an old and apparently dear friend. Duncan couldn't understand the attraction, the residual affection Methos held towards Byron, but he'd had enough lovers to know that the brain didn't often rule the heart. And there was no doubt the two men had been lovers in the past.  Byron's attitude and Methos' own admission that he always made lovers out of his students were proof enough without looking into the Quickening memories still trying to settle down inside him.

Methos was looking tired, and Duncan wondered how much sleep he'd gotten over the past few days. He had a feeling that it was very little. He also suspected that Methos suffered from nightmares, but since Methos had confiscated his key to the other Immortal's flat, Duncan hadn't been able to check on him.

He'd allowed Duncan to take him home that first night, the night Byron had first intruded on Duncan's happy little fantasy, but he'd made it plain that he didn't want or need a keeper. Since then, he'd ignored Duncan's edict about not going about the city alone, just as he was currently ignoring the ban on alcohol, but Duncan was realistic enough to know he could push the man only so far. And it appeared that he was doing little more than nursing that drink so Duncan reigned in his uneasiness.

"I was there when he had his First Death," Methos said suddenly, shattering the silence. "I was his first teacher. I showed him ways to minimize his handicaps, to play to his strengths."

"You taught him well," Duncan said dryly, his leg still feeling tender from the bullet Byron had put into him to "even the odds".

"Not enough to keep him from getting killed," Methos said sharply. "Damn you to hell, MacLeod! He was my student, as dear to me as Richie is to you!"

The comment stung Duncan and he said, "He was your lover, too."

Methos turned his head and glared at Duncan. "Yes, he was. Are you planning on killing _all_ my past lovers, MacLeod? Should I warn Julian to flee the country?"

"Don't be absurd," Duncan growled. "This had nothing to do with what was between you and all to do with what he was doing to mortals."

"You let Kristen get away with the same thing," Methos retorted. "You let her walk away more than once. If you could do that for _your_ former lover, why couldn't you do it for mine?"

Duncan looked across the table and met Methos' eyes squarely. "For the same reason you Challenged and killed Kristen in my place. 'Somebody had to do it.' "

Methos snorted. "And that somebody just had to be you." He got up, reaching for his coat.

"Where are you going?" Duncan asked, startled by the abrupt movement.

"I'm going home." Methos ground out.

"Not alone. I'll drive you."

"No, thanks," he said shortly. "I'll walk."

Duncan's jaw tightened. "Not at this time of night. It's not safe."

Methos glared at him, about to make a cutting remark, when the sense of Immortal presence made them both swing their heads towards the door. Richie entered and paused, taken aback by the look on both their faces.

"Um, did I come at a bad time?"

Methos recovered first and actually smiled at the youngster, although it was a brittle smile. "As a matter of fact, you've come at a very opportune time. You can give me a lift home."

Richie's jaw nearly dropped. Methos usually teased and taunted him unmercifully, but never treated him like a chum. "Um, sure," he said. "I got the bike outside."

"Are you insane?" Duncan exploded.

Methos gave him a cool look. "What, you don't think that Richie can protect me?"

"It's not that!" Duncan said, seeing Richie give him a puzzled look. "You'll be jostled and bumped all over the road! Think about the baby!"

Methos stiffened and Joe could have sworn that the temperature in the place dropped into the negative digits. "Of course. The baby," he snarled. "What was I thinking? I'll call Julian instead." He looked over at Joe. "You don't mind if I use the office phone, do you?" Without waiting for an answer, Methos stalked off.

Richie looked at his mentor, bewildered. "Mac? What just happened here?"

Duncan sighed and sat back in his chair. "A lot. I had to Challenge one of Methos' students earlier tonight. Byron."

Richie's eyes widened. "You took out Byron? But he's one of the greatest musicians ever!"

"He was killing mortals, Richie," Duncan said wearily. How many times would he have to say the same thing? "He was pressuring them into taking drugs, into taking insane chances. He's left a trail of dead young people behind him. And he got a young musician, a friend of Joe, killed. I had to challenge him."

"And Methos didn't like that," Richie hazarded a guess. Then he frowned. "But that doesn't explain why you're worried about him going home alone. You think he's so upset that he'll risk his head?" He shook his head. "No offense, but I don't think he'd _ever_ get that upset."

"He can't fight," Duncan said shortly. "It's not...good for his health."

Richie's breath caught. "He's close to a Dark Quickening?" he asked nervously, remembering what Duncan had done under its influence.

"No," Duncan said. "He's..."

"Mac," Joe said warningly. "You know what Julian said."

"I know but we can trust Richie. He hasn't told anyone about Methos, has he?" Duncan said. "Besides, what if something happens to me? Methos will need someone to protect him."

Richie snorted. "Me? Protect _him_? He'd take my head if I even _suggested_   that!"

"All I'm saying is think about what you're planning to tell Richie," Joe said urgently. "Whether it's wise for him to know. For his own safety, as well as Methos'."

Richie was intrigued by the cryptic conversation going on around him. "What? Come on, Mac. You know you can trust me!"

Duncan sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "Joe's right. I need to think this through. Tell you what.  Come over to the barge for lunch tomorrow and I'll tell you what I can, okay?"

Richie nodded, not liking the way it had been phrased but figured half a loaf was better than none. "Sounds like a plan.  You want me to check on the old man?"

Duncan nodded. "Thanks, Rich."

"No problem."

Richie headed towards the office but the sound of a door opening and the tingle of Presence told him Methos was heading outside. He followed warily and watched the oldest of their kind approach a car waiting at the curb. An unfamiliar Immortal got out and Richie could see the concern on his face in the light from the streetlamp as he came around to meet Methos.

"You okay, my friend?"

"No," Methos said shortly, reaching for the door handle, his body brushing against the other Immortals'.

"Have you been drinking?" the other man said sharply, and Richie could see Methos' glare, even at this distance.

"Don't _you_ start on me, Julian!"

"Methos - "

"Byron is dead, and I don't want to talk about it, and I don't want to go home. I want you to take me back to your place and then tell me how to get rid of this thing."

The car door slammed behind Methos.  The other Immortal, the one he'd called Julian, sighed and walked around to the other side of the car. Richie watched for a moment before he hopped on his bike to follow. He'd get some answers to this mystery - one way or the other.


	11. Chapter 11

Richie straddled his motorcycle and stared up at the building in front of him, the one that bore the name "Olivia Fremont Center for Reproductive Medicine". He felt an involuntary shudder run up his backbone. Like most Immortals living in modern times, he had a horror of someone finding out what he was and whisking him away to a secret lab. And "reproductive medicine" sounded ominous to his ears, bringing up images of the oldest Immortal being held for some nefarious scheme like breeding Immortal soldiers. In fact, it was almost enough to make him charge into the building after the Old Guy, if it weren't for three things: the Immortal Methos was with was obviously a friend, Methos had entered the building of his own free will, and Immortals were sterile.

Weren't they?

That's what Mac had said when he told Richie about being Immortal, that he would never be able to have kids of his own. At the time it had been a bummer, but now the idea was kind of a relief. It was hard enough keeping your head attached without worrying about a kid. But then what was Methos doing in a place like this?

The answer was probably a simple one. That guy Julian worked here or, knowing the older Immortals like he did, owned the place. Maybe had an apartment up there where the lights had come on shortly after they arrived. But it seemed like a pretty strange place for any Immortal to hang out, considering that "reproduction" wasn't in the Immortal vocabulary. Then again, Mac had said that Methos was ill.

_"He can't fight. It's not good for his health."_

Mac's words whispered through the night air, teasing Richie with the mystery behind them. If it wasn't a Dark Quickening, then why would it be bad for an Immortal to fight? Could an Immortal even _have_ health problems? He didn't know of any Immortal who'd ever gotten sick, or even had tooth decay, for that matter. So what could have happened to Methos to make Mac so concerned about his ability to take a head?

_"Have you been drinking?"_

Julian's words floated on the wind, making Richie smile. As if anyone who knew Methos didn't know that was like asking the Old Man if he had been breathing. And that man had seemed upset by the idea. Could Methos have some sort of problem with booze? He supposed it was possible that an Immortal could be an alcoholic - not that it could kill him permanently although being a drunk was definitely unsafe if anyone came hunting you. But Methos never seemed to be drunk, never seemed to have a problem with alcohol and, in fact, was a hoot to be around when he had a bit of a buzz going as his stories got better and better.

Richie grinned in memory of some of those stories - _not_ what he had expected to hear from the Oldest of their kind - and then frowned. Methos hadn't been around Joe's lately, and the one time Richie had run into him, he had been drinking a root beer. And Joe had said that it was private stock, something Mac had gotten for the Old Man. At the time, Richie had assumed it was a joke between the two of them, a reference to Methos' favorite indulgence, but now...

_"Mama, you know you're not supposed to be drinking while you're pregnant!_ "

Maria's words rang out in the dark. He remembered a party at a friend's house years ago. They had been celebrating something -- a birthday or anniversary -- and Maria's uncle had proposed a toast. Richie had been amused when his friend had snatched the glass out of her mother's hand. Maria's mom had rolled her eyes and said that if she had listened to everything  the doctors said was bad for her she'd be flat on her back and Maria would be an only child.

_"You'll be jostled and bumped all over the road.  Think about the baby!"_

Now that he thought about it, that comment had been just plain weird and it had set up the Old Guy's back. Since Methos didn't appear to be carrying a child, either Richie had mistaken what Mac had said or...

What if it wasn't the _fighting_ that was dangerous for Methos, but the Quickening? Taking all that power through your body had to be bad for if you were pregnant, right?

Pregnant. Despite the weirdness, Richie didn't immediately reject the idea. It didn't matter that Methos was male, as far as Richie knew. There'd always been something different about Methos, something he'd sensed when they first met. His first impression of "Adam" when Mac had introduced them was that the guy was a little light in the loafers. There was the way Adam looked and walked and talked.  He didn't flame but it was a near thing. And Adam was nuts about _books_ for Christ's sake! The only guys Richie knew who really liked to read were either nerds or gay. Excepting Mac, of course.

It didn't bother Richie that Methos was gay. He'd seen a lot while on the streets and very little shocked him. Sexual orientation had never seemed a big deal to Richie although personally he was only attracted to women. Okay, Methos might not be completely gay since he'd run off with that girl who was dying of cancer or something. But then again, Richie heard he'd dropped everything to come running when Mac had taken that Dark Quickening. Richie hadn't heard any of the details, and he'd avoided Mac for a long time after the scare he'd given him, but he'd gotten the idea that Methos had risked his own head to save Mac. He had to admit it had raised his opinion of the Old Guy considerably.

So what if Methos was _really_ different? He vaguely remembered stories about people who were both male and female, although he thought that had something to do with mythology. Hell, Methos was as old as some of those myths, right? Or as near as made no difference. So maybe he'd always been like this, or maybe it was something that happened to Immortals when they got really, really old.

Richie shuddered at that, although he thought Mac might like the idea.  The guy was nuts about kids. Maybe that's why he was being so protective of the Old Guy, the way he'd been about Anne when she got pregnant with Mary.

Or maybe he was the baby's father. 

Richie shook his head. Mac was only a couple hundred years old and if he'd been capable of having kids, he'd have known by now. He'd been involved with lots of older Immortals,  none as old as Methos but still up there, and if it was possible, it would have happened. So it was probably something unique about Methos.

Or maybe that Julian guy was involved in this and it was some sort of experiment. Although the idea of Methos submitting voluntarily to some kind of experiment to made him pregnant was just bizarre and it made Richie feel weird.

Movement from above caught his eye, and he looked up to see Methos standing at a window a couple stories up. He made a gesture to the old Immortal, asking if he was all right. Methos nodded in response and made a not-so-polite gesture for him to get lost, although Richie thought he could see a smile on his face. Richie grinned. Yeah, the Old Guy was fine.

Well, he wasn't getting answers sitting around here, so Richie gave Methos a salute and fastened his helmet on again, revved his engine, and headed down the road. Even though he didn't have Watcher connections, he had his own sources of information. If there was anything shady about this Julian character, his friends might have heard something.

And he intended to know a lot more about everything before he next saw MacLeod.

 

* * *

 

Both Methos and Julian had been quiet during the drive back to the building where Julian had his private living quarters as well as his office. It wasn't until they were inside the suite that Julian finally spoke.

"So what's got you in such a foul mood tonight? Or should I say, fouler than usual?"

Methos sighed and flopped down on the couch. "Mac killed Byron tonight."

"I assume you mean he Challenged Byron."

"Of course. MacLeod doesn't know how to play without the Rules."

"And Byron met him instead of walking away?"

Methos snorted. "You know Byron."

"Yes. I know him, and better than you, I think. At least I saw him more realistically than you ever did," Julian said dryly.

Methos frowned. "You two never did get along together."

"That's because George couldn't bear to share his toys, or his teacher, with anyone else," Julian said candidly. "He always had to be the center of attention -- especially yours."

"He wasn't that bad," Methos protested.

"Oh yes, he was. And you know it; remember why you left him in the first place? Anytime you looked at anyone, male or female, George was right there in your face, mocking you while at the same time egging you on -- as long as he got to share. Drove you all the way to the Americas, as I recall."

Methos dropped his head back on the couch. "He was young, he was reckless...."

"He was spoiled and self-indulgent," Julian said, then added, "He was also a genius. But he never should have been Immortal."

Methos closed his eyes. "I know."

"So you and MacLeod are on the outs over this?" Julian asked, settling in a chair nearby.

Methos sighed. "We're always 'on the outs' about something these days, and it's only going to get worse. Juls, I can't do this anymore."

"By 'this' I assume you mean you don't want to be pregnant anymore."

"You know damn well that's what I mean."

Julian shook his head. "Even if it were possible to terminate an Immortal pregnancy - which I don't think _is_ possible - I can't. My life's work is helping people have babies."

"God preserve me from honorable men and their ethics!" Methos snarled, surging to his feet. "You won't help me? Fine! I'll go find some damn Immortal to Challenge! That'll solve my problem, one way or the other!"

Julian got between him and the door. "Don't be stupid! Killing yourself or the child because you're mad at MacLeod is so asinine, I can't even believe _you_ thought of it.  You have problems with the man? Then you take it up with him in a rational manner, and start thinking with your head instead of your ass. Or your dick."

Methos pulled his sword as he glared at his former student. "Quintus Frementius, get out of my way or get out your sword!"

"Oh, _that's_ a clever idea," Julian said tauntingly. "You know I won't lift my sword against you, so you'd better go ahead and take my head. Lose _both_ your remaining students in one day, and possibly kill yourself and the child." He spread his arms wide. "Well? What are you waiting for? Take my head."

For a long moment, Methos stood with his sword at Julian's throat, then the tip dropped to the floor. "I can't, and you know it, damn you."

Julian released the breath he had been holding. "I didn't think you could but then, you haven't been acting like yourself lately."

He took the sword out of Methos' hand, pushed him towards the couch, then sat down beside him. "The Methos I knew couldn't have gotten pregnant in the first place because there wasn't anyone he'd give up his head for. But if he _had_ , he would have simply picked a quiet and remote village to retreat to, had the child, and left it with the most deserving foster parents in the area. So what happened to that Methos?"

Methos sighed. "You know what happened. I made a mistake, fell in love. Only trouble is, MacLeod doesn't feel the same way."

"Sure about that, are you?"

"Oh, we're _friends_ and he lusts after me, but love?" He shook his head. "He cares more about the baby." A corner of his mouth edged up in a reluctant smile. "And you don't have to tell me how pathetic I sounded when I said that."

"Pretty damn pathetic," Julian agreed, then ducked when Methos aimed a mock blow at him. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"I know what I _should_ do," Methos said with a sigh. "I should pack up and leave town, find that village you were talking about, and see about selecting good foster parents."

"But you won't," Julian said gently.

"No," Methos said lowly. "I'll stay. I don't think I can do this alone, Juls." He gave Julian a crooked smile. "Besides, those remote villages have terrible library systems and not the slightest idea how to make a decent cup of coffee."

"Which is off-limits for you, at any rate."

Methos made a face at his old friend. "You're a real bastard, did you know that?"

"You're not the first 'mother' to tell me that," Julian said. "So what do you intend to do about MacLeod? I asked you to play nice with him, and the next thing I know you're at each other's throats. I shudder to think where you'll go next."

Methos sighed. "Duncan MacLeod is riding a wave of guilt right now -- something he excels at, by the way. But sooner or later, one of his numerous friends will beg for his help, or some beautiful woman will come into his life, and he'll be gone. With any luck, it'll be before the baby is born, and by the time he gets back it'll be over and I'll take that little holiday."

"And the baby?"

Methos got up and went to the window, looking down at the street. A familiar figure was straddling a motorcycle and looking up at the window. He saw Richie's questioning gesture, asking if he was all right or needed rescue, and he couldn't help smiling. It appeared that Duncan was contagious and young Ryan had been infected with his need to look after the Clan. He signaled for Richie to take off with a mock-rude gesture and saw Richie grin before he obligingly did so.

Methos watched him head into the darkened streets with a rueful smile and shook his head. If proximity gave Ryan this bad a case of Honor and Ethics, then what would heredity do? Could he bear to stick around and watch another noble MacLeod stick out his neck for his principles?

Of course there was the possibility that the child would have his own gift for self-preservation, his own fascination for learning, and the thought of rediscovering the wonders of the world through a pair of young eyes was very tempting.

Yes, it would be best to leave the child in the hands of mortal foster parents, to allow the child to grow up as normally as possible. It would be the practical thing to do, the noble path. But could he do that? Walk away and leave his child with strangers, knowing that the next time they met might be at opposite ends of a sword?

"I don't know, Julian," he said finally, in answer to his friend's question. "For once in my life, I haven't got the slightest clue what to do."

Julian crossed the room and squeezed his former teacher's shoulder. "Come; I'll get you settled in the spare room. See if everything doesn't all look better in the morning."

"Somehow I doubt that," Methos said with a sigh, following his friend down the hallway. "But I seem to be all out of other choices."

 

* * *

 

Richie found that Joe was already at the barge when he arrived for lunch and, from the look on Duncan's face, he knew they'd agreed not to tell him. He hid his smile and decided to play along for the moment.

"So what's up with the old guy?" he asked, plopping down on the couch.

Duncan hesitated and shared a look with Joe, and then started on the story they'd agreed to tell Richie. "There are Hunters are on his trail, ones who travel in packs and don't play by the rules. They may have figured out who he really is, and he needs us to help protect him."

_Nice try, Mac,_ Richie thought, saying with apparent concern, "Well, you can count on me to help baby-sit the Old Man. Wouldn't want anything to happen to him, right? Although...now that I come to think about it, he hasn't been his old self lately. I guess he's pretty worried."

Guardedly, Duncan said, "Why do you say that?"

"He looks like he isn't keeping food down, like he's heaving. Though I _have_ noticed a sorta, I don't know, _glow_ about him. I thought it was just beer sheen but then I realized I haven't seen him drinking." He watched as Duncan's eyes widened. "It made me wonder if he was...you know...sick or..."  He paused. "Pregnant."

Duncan closed his eyes. "You guessed."

"Of course I guessed! I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but what you said last night, and then his friend taking him to that clinic, it all just sorta fell together. I figured Methos must be part of some kinda experiment, although why they didn't use someone like Amanda..."

"You have _got_ to be kidding!"

"Okay, so Amanda's not the maternal type but neither is Methos.  And at least she has the right, you know, parts. Unless he's one of those, you know? that are both sexes?"

"Hermaphrodite. And no, he's not."

"Well, I guess it's not working out so well, and I can't say I blame him for wanting to cancel the experiment," Richie said.

Duncan's head jerked up. "What?"

"Yeah, as he was getting in the car, Methos said he wanted to get rid of it when they got back to that guy Julian's place."

Duncan's face paled and he gave the Watcher an anguished look. "Oh my God! Joe..."

"I'm sorry, Mac," Joe said. "But I told you to back off, that you were pushing too hard."

Duncan hurried to the phone, dialing Methos' number. "There's no answer," he muttered, then called Julian Fremont's number. "Dr. Fremont? It's Duncan MacLeod. Have you - do you know where Adam is?"

Julian's voice sounded a little amused as he said, "He spent the night in my guest room and left about an hour ago. Is something wrong?"

Duncan was having trouble breathing. "A friend of mine overheard him say something last night. About...terminating the...you know."

"Methos was a little upset last night but he's not about to do anything as drastic as that." His voice hesitated for a moment. "You two need to sit down and talk."

"I know," Duncan said, tiredly. "I was working up to that, before Byron came to town."

"Well, if I were you, I'd work on it a little harder," Julian said tartly and hung up.

Duncan hung up the phone and looked over at Joe. "He says Methos is fine, that he isn't going to..." He swallowed. "Can I trust him, Joe? What do we really know about this guy?"

"I figured you were going to ask that at some point," Joe said caustically. "His original name was Quintus Frementius Julianus, and he had his first death about two thousand years ago. Disappeared for a couple decades although there were rumors that he was traveling with a Greek physician who was also his teacher."

"Methos," Duncan murmured.

"Julianus was a physician in Rome before his death and he continues to practice each time he resurfaces, mostly in fields having to do with obstetrics. He's taken a few heads, all in self-defense. His current incarnation is Dr. Julian Fremont, a specialist in the field of reproductive medicine: in vitro fertilization, that kind of thing. Owns the building where he practices, and it's supposed named for his late mother, but Watcher records say it's really for his first wife, Livia Marciana Frementia."

"She died before his first death?"

Joe shook his head. "Divorced on the grounds of barrenness, at the insistence of his father, a prominent Senator. Julianus appears to have been very much in love with her. I expect it was worse when he found out _he_ was the one who couldn't have children, not his wife."

"Any hints of other Quickening-births?"

"Nope.  Not that I expected any.  I would've remembered a story like that. You're the first Immortals I've even heard a _whisper_ about."

"Are you telling me that it's _yours_?" Richie exclaimed, and when Duncan turned around, he saw that Richie's eyes were as big as saucers.

"Yeah.  Mine and Methos'."

"How in hell...is this some sort of experiment?"

"No, not an experiment. It's a rare but natural type of...conception. For Immortals. Under certain conditions."

"You mean that you and Methos..." Richie joined his hands together into the symbol for the two backed beast.

"Richard!"

"C'mon, Mac! I'm older than five, you know! So when did this happen? When did you two become lovers? When did you have _time_? Last I checked, Amanda was 'visiting' you here."

"It was before that."

"When you were both in Seacouver."

"After that," Duncan muttered.

"Mac."

"All right. If you must know, some very old and nasty acquaintances of his got loose about six weeks ago and we fought them together. We shared a Quickening."

Richie's eyes widened. "I didn't know that was possible."

"Apparently it is, under certain circumstances."

"Like when you're lovers?"

"No. We _weren't_ lovers."

"Mac, the two of you are having a baby together, and you said that it was created the old-fashioned way. Which means that you two _must_ have been lovers _sometime_ ," Richie said in exasperation.

"That night after the shared Quickening," Duncan muttered.

Richie sat in stunned silence for a  moment. "You're kidding," he said incredulously. "You had a one-night stand with Methos, knocked him up, and you're still _alive_?" Richie shook his head with a grin. "The guy must really love you. I'd have whacked you for that myself."

Duncan's eyes narrowed. "Why do you think he loves me?"

Richie gave him another incredulous look. "You mean you don't know?" He looked over at Joe. "Is he really that clueless?"

"Apparently," Joe said dryly.

"About what?" Duncan demanded.

Richie looked back at Duncan. "The guy's been nuts about you since...well, at least as long as I've known him. Probably longer."

"I'd say since the first time they met," Joe said in agreement.

Duncan looked back at Joe. "You _knew_ how he felt about me and you didn't _say_ anything?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "Mac, a blind man and his _dog_ could see how he felt about you. Not that it mattered since you don't swing that way."

Duncan gave him an indignant look. "I'll have you know that I've swung that way on _many_ occasions!"

"Uh-huh," Richie said skeptically, crossing his arms and starting at Duncan. "So if you're warm for his form and he's gone on you, who's this Julian he went off with? My friends say he's a decent enough doctor but with a big price-tag, so what's he to Methos?"

Duncan's glare turned into a sulk. "His doctor. Another Immortal, one who knows all about this Quickening-baby business. And _another_ of his former students and lovers."

"And you let him _go_?" Richie said. "Are you _nuts_?" He sighed. "Don't tell me.  He hasn't told you how he feels, and you haven't told him. Mac, what was the _first_ thing you told me when I started dating? Well, the second, actually, and you realize you wasted that whole safe-sex speech on me, right?  You said that _communication_ was the most important thing in a relationship, remember?"

Duncan sighed. "I remember."

"So I think you two need to do some serious communicating."

Duncan's glare returned. "In case you didn't notice, Methos is _mad_ at me!"

Richie snorted. "Like Tessa never got mad at you? Would you have let _her_ go off with an old boyfriend just because you two had a tiff?"

"Of course not! But - but this is different."

"Like hell it is!" Richie sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Look, Mac, it's none of my business and if you tell me to butt out I will, but if you keep on going like this, Methos is gonna bunk. And frankly, I've seen you crazy and I'd prefer not to see it again."

Duncan sighed, unable to believe that he had been reduced to taking romantic advice from Richie. "What do you suggest?"

"Come on, Mac! You're the king of romance! I've seen you bring Tessa around when she was so mad she could've spit nails. Wine and dine him."

"I tried that already," Duncan said gloomily, remembering the fiasco that evening had turned into.

"Sweep him off his feet," Richie continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Give him presents. You know the kinds of things he likes, right?"

"Books are a nice idea," Joe chimed in.

Duncan glared at Joe. "You, too?"

"I think the kid has the right idea," Joe said with a shrug. "Besides, considering what Methos said the other day..."

"What, he told you he was thinking about aborting it, too?"

Joe hesitated, then decided to take the risk. "He talked about giving it up for adoption."

"What!" Duncan roared.

"Now wait a minute, Mac," Joe said quickly. "What he said makes sense, from his point of view. An Immortal, raising a pre-Immortal child on his own without losing either of their heads is suicide. At least with a mortal family, the child would have a chance at a normal life."

Duncan gaped at Joe, stunned, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Richie frowned. "But the kid deserves to have his _real_ parents, as long as they both love and want him. You _do_ want the kid, right, Mac?"

"Of course I want the kid!" Duncan exploded. "And right now, I want to know where in hell Methos is!"

The feeling of Immortal presence flooded him and he swung around to see Methos standing in the doorway.

"Hullo!" Methos said brightly, then took in their expressions. "Did I come at a bad time?"


	12. Chapter 12

Duncan stormed over to Methos, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him into the main living area before he could retreat. "What is this about you giving the baby up for adoption?"

Methos glared at Joe as he shrugged off Duncan's hand. "Someone has a big mouth."

"Never mind about Joe," Duncan said impatiently. "Is it true?"

Methos gave Duncan an irritated look. "Mac in case you haven't noticed, an Immortal lifestyle isn't the best for a single parent."

"You don't want the child? Fine! I do!"

Methos glared at him. "You want me to just turn _my_ child over to you? You -- the magnet for Immortal Hunters? Do you think I'm _insane_?"

"Oh, _now_ it's your child! A moment ago you didn't want it!"

"I didn't say I didn't want it!"

"You never wanted it! You hate having a reminder of what happened that night!"

Methos closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to control his temper. "Julian told you it couldn't be rape."

"Well, you've gone out of your way to tell me it _was_ !" Duncan snapped. "You know, I wasn't the only one in that bed! And despite the fact that you've _conveniently_ forgotten what happened, you were extremely willing at the time! You could hardly get me in you fast enough!"

Methos' eyes darkened. "And you didn't waste any time, did you? It's probably a good thing I _don't_ remember that night. It mustn't have been much of a bang!"

Duncan's eyes narrowed. "Good enough to make you pass out!"

"I was already out of it, MacLeod - or don't _you_ remember?"

"God damn it, I am so tired of that song!" Duncan exploded. "What is so damn important about whether or not you remember?"

"Because I hoped our first time would be-" Methos snapped, then paled as he realized what he'd said. "Oh, bloody hell!" He tried to head for the door but Duncan was between him and it, and he advanced with a look in his eyes that didn't bode well for Methos' heart.

"You hoped our first time would be -- what?" Duncan asked, his voice  a sultry purr.

"Nothing. Just forget I said that," Methos said, backing away.

"Not likely," Duncan replied, following him. "Neither one of us is going to forget _anything_ this time. Now are you going to answer the question," he asked, trapping Methos against the wall, "or am I going to have to torture you?" He captured Methos' face between his hands and leaned forward to kiss him, a sweet but intense kiss that took the other man's breath away.

When Duncan released him, Methos gave him a dazed look. "Mac?"

"Hush," Duncan said softly, pulling him back into his arms. This time, Methos' arms wrapped around Duncan and he leaned into the kiss, parting his lips to allow Duncan inside.

Joe chuckled in amusement, getting to his feet. "Richie, I think that's our cue to leave."

"Yeah," Richie said. "This is _way_ more information about Mac's sex life than I wanted to know." He followed Joe out of the barge, glancing back one more time at the pair, still locked in a kiss. "Think we should lock the door for them?"

"Might be a good idea, although any Immortal who comes knocking now deserves what he gets." Raising his voice, he said, "Mac? I'll give you a call in a couple days, okay?" He grinned as Duncan let go of Methos long enough to signal an okay with one hand before he returned his full attention to Methos. "C'mon, Richie. I'll buy you a beer and tell you a story."

When the kiss ended, Methos leaned his head against Duncan's shoulder and murmured, "That was supposed to be torture?"

Duncan grinned, reminded of his mock threat. "Okay, so I need to work on my technique."

"Oh, I don't think there was anything wrong with your technique. Of course, I'm willing to help you perfect your skills, despite the intense personal sacrifice."

Duncan chuckled and tightened his hold on the older Immortal. "Watch it. You're developing altruistic tendencies."

Methos relaxed into the arms around him. "I've already decided you're contagious. Did you know Richie followed me last night?"

"He was worried about you."

"See what I mean?" He gave a mock-weary sigh and tucked his face into the warm hollow between Duncan's neck and shoulder. "I hope I'm up to dealing with _two_ Boy Scouts."

"Richie's not around _that_ much."

"I wasn't talking about Richie."

"Oh." Duncan continued holding Methos close with one arm while the other hand rubbed circles over the older Immortal's back. "Methos?"

"Mmm?" Between his constant fatigue, the warmth of the embrace, and the soothing caresses, Methos was feeling a sleepy contentment that he was loath to disrupt.

"You know I'll help you in any way I can. Anything that you and the baby need, you only have to ask and I'll give it to you."

_Everything but your heart,_ Methos thought sadly, but all he said was, "I know, Mac."

"So you're going to keep the baby?"

Involuntarily, Methos stiffened. _The baby, always the damn baby,_ he thought savagely. _What about me?_

Duncan felt Methos tense in his arms and said quickly, "I'm not arguing your right to do what you want, and I understand the problems, but I'd like us to raise our child  together."

Methos frowned. "Together?"

Duncan silently cursed himself, knowing the slightest hint of possessiveness could make Methos take off. "If you don't mind. We don't have to live together, it was presumptuous of me to suggest it, but I'd like to share as much of your lives, yours and the baby's, as you'll let me."

The humble tone in Duncan's voice nearly broke his heart, and Methos gently pushed away. "You have rights here, MacLeod. The child is yours, too. What do _you_ want?"

_To take you in my arms and never let you go,_ Duncan thought, watching Methos move over to the couch. _To kiss that sarcastic mouth of yours every morning and every night. To see you in my bed and my kitchen and my life. To have you admit you love me, like Joe and Richie said._

Out loud he said, "I just told you - to share your lives." He sat next to Methos. "And I'd like to talk about that night, if you don't mind."

Methos frowned slightly. "What about?"

Duncan hesitated, trying to find the right words to say. He had a feeling that what he said now would affect their entire future. "Methos, it wasn't just the Quickening. I'd wanted _you_ for so long, and when I thought it was finally happening...I didn't stop to think, to question it. And I don't regret it, except for hurting you."

Something tight inside of Methos' chest began loosening. "You weren't there in the morning."

"I couldn't sleep. I was still wired but you were exhausted and I was afraid I'd keep you awake. I thought that when we met later we'd talk about it, but then you didn't say anything..." Duncan took Methos' hand. "I thought maybe _you_ regretted it. I didn't realize you didn't remember."

Methos looked down at their joined hands, and a corner of his mouth lifted. "The only thing I regret is that I _don't_ remember."

Duncan raised their hands to his lips. "You didn't answer and don't think I didn't notice."

Methos watched in fascination as warm lips caressed the back of his hand. "Damn. You're getting way too perceptive, MacLeod."

"Must be the company I'm keeping." Duncan turned over Methos' hand and began working on the palm. "And I'm still waiting for an answer. You hoped our first time would be...?"

"Special," Methos said, wondering why he suddenly felt breathless. He knew that he was being seduced, and it certainly wasn't the first time that had happened in his long life, but he didn't remember feeling this light-headed.

"Then you'd thought about us being together." Duncan's teeth nibbled at fingertips and then his tongue soothed the reddened flesh. "Fantasized about it."

"Yes," Methos whispered, his eyes closing as a sensuous tongue teased the palm of his hand. "Oh, yes."

Duncan licked the pulse point, humming Methos' name against the warm skin. "Methos?"

"Mmm?" His head had dropped back on the couch, his whole being seemingly focused on the hand in Duncan's possession. _No wonder the man has women falling into his bed. If this is what he can do to just a hand..._

"Have you got a good imagination?"

Methos opened one eye and realized that, while Duncan was still holding his hand, he had moved on the couch so that his face was now inches away from Methos'. "Why?"  Methos tried to say it in his usual suspicious tone but he had a feeling that it came out as breathless.

"I'd like to make _this_ our first time."

The look in Duncan's eyes and the nearness of his body drove all thoughts of self preservation out of his head. "God, Duncan," he groaned, pulling Duncan's head down to kiss.

Duncan took that as a 'yes'. He kissed Methos again, a long and deliberately seductive kiss, until Methos was weak-kneed. Clothes seemed to melt away, and Methos found himself naked and on his back in Duncan's bed before he quite knew what had hit him.

Duncan wasted no time in shedding his own clothes and joining Methos on the bed. His mouth began a slow survey of the luscious banquet laid out before him, tasting every inch of the other Immortal's body. Methos was panting and pleading long before Duncan took him into his mouth, and the feeling of that hot mouth around his cock was so intense that Methos lost it immediately. He arched upward, shouting Duncan's name as he came hard, and then collapsed onto the bed.

Duncan moved up to lie alongside him, claiming his mouth for a kiss. "You okay?"

"Yes," Methos groaned, "although I think the top of my head is now orbiting the Earth."

Duncan chuckled and kissed him again, and Methos wrapped his arms around him. He took possession of the kiss, rolling them so that Duncan's body was stretched out under his, and leisurely explored his lover's mouth. He could feel Duncan's hard length pressed along his leg, and his body suddenly ached to feel it inside.

"Duncan," he murmured, breaking the kiss so that he could press kisses along his jaw.

"Mmm?" Duncan asked, trying to will his body not to explode under Methos' erotic touch.

"I want you inside me." He reached down to encircle Duncan's cock with his hand and stroked it slowly.

Duncan's breath caught. "You sure? Because you can take me if you'd rather."

Methos silenced Duncan with a kiss. "Shut up, MacLeod, and fuck me."

Duncan laughed and rolled so Methos was underneath again. "God, you're bossy."

"You say the nicest things." Methos slid his hands down to grasp Duncan's ass, grinding his groin against the other man's.

Duncan silenced him with another kiss, this one possessive and then shifted to his knees so that he could grab a tube of lubricant out of the nightstand. When he looked back, Methos had pulled back his knees to expose himself and Duncan couldn't help an involuntary gasp.

"My God, you're beautiful!"

Methos' mouth turned up at one corner. "Flattery? You go all out for a fantasy, don't you?"

"It's not flattery," Duncan murmured as his fingers began caressing and stretching his lover's body. "It's the truth. I've never seen a man's body as beautiful as yours." He coated himself and slowly eased his way into his lover's body, feeling the long legs lock around his body.

"Methos!" he groaned, his body exploding at the feel of the tight channel around him, but his release only slightly reduced the aching in his cock. He kissed Methos again, this one long and slow, and felt his lover harden between their bellies as he rocked their bodies together. It was ecstasy, it was light and heat and warmth, it was a more complete joining than he had ever known with any other lover. As his thrusting increased, he could sense Methos' impending climax, could feel the rush of blood through the body under him, and his own body sang in response.

"Duncan!" Methos groaned, shuddering, and Duncan felt the blessed release of his own body as ecstasy surged within him.

"Methos!" he gasped, rocking harder, pressing their bodies closer together. He dropped his head so that he could take his lover's mouth again, drinking in life from the joining of their lips.

When he finally recovered his own senses, he realized Methos was clutching him tightly, as if afraid to let go. Duncan pressed reassuring kisses over his lover's face. "It's all right," he murmured soothingly, lovingly. "I've got you. We're going to be fine."

Methos' arms loosened slightly, enough to allow Duncan to maneuver them onto their sides. Duncan saw that Methos' eyes were still closed and that he was breathing heavily, and he ran a soothing hand over his lover's skin.

"It's all right," he murmured again, kissing Methos' mouth gently. " _We're_ all right."

Methos nodded and wriggled slightly closer, his eyes still shut but his body felt relaxed and pliant within Duncan's arms. "Yes," he said against Duncan's skin. But his heart whispered, _For now_.

* * *

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

Duncan woke in the early morning to the delicious sensation of a long, lean body pressed up against his back. He smiled as he took a deep, contented breath. _Methos_ , he thought. _Here in my bed at last._

Carefully, he eased onto his other side so he could see his lover's face. Methos was deeply asleep, shadows under his eyes showing that he wasn't getting enough rest, something Duncan intended to remedy. Although, he thought guiltily, he hadn't been much help so far. He'd awakened in the middle of the night and, inflamed by the feel of his new lover's body against his, he had woken Methos up for what had turned into an enthusiastic and energetic third bout of sex.

His lips curved as he reflected over the previous day. After their initial tumble, they had dozed for a while before the rumbling of Methos' stomach had awakened Duncan and sent him in search of food. His cupboards had proven surprisingly bare, until he remembered he had been shopping for Methos' kitchen, not his own.

Fortunately, there was delivery.  They had taken the little white cartons back to bed with them, feeding bits to each other. Methos had  decided he needed a table and decided that, in lieu of one, Duncan's chest made an adequate substitute. He had then "set" the table and slowly devoured the contents, one lick at a time.

By the time Methos reached Duncan's cock, he was nearly insane with need, and the feel of his lover breeching his body had made him lose control. He grinned as he remembered Methos hadn't been far behind, gasping something in a language Duncan didn't recognize as he thrust frantically inside Duncan. Then he'd collapsed across Duncan's chest, smearing sauce and sweat across both their bodies.

A halt to activities had been called as they showered and changed the sheets, and then the most marvelous thing of all had happened: Methos had pulled on his boxers and slid into his bed, rolling into his arms to sleep, as if it was the most natural, most ordinary thing in the world. Duncan had laid there for an hour, just holding the other man close, smiling up at the dark and saying silent thanks for this blessing.

He grinned as he saw where those boxers had ended up during their midnight romp, festooning one end of the headboard, and he sighed again in satisfaction. After the emotional ups and downs of the past week, this was a very welcome ending.

Methos mumbled and shifted in bed as if aware that his lover was awake. Duncan wanted him to sleep longer so he carefully slid out of bed, watching with held breath while Methos shifted again and wrapped himself around a pillow, then appeared to settle into a deep sleep.

After a quick shower, a perusal of the kitchen reminded Duncan that there was literally nothing for breakfast. He contemplated waking the other man and taking him out but Methos was sleeping so soundly that he hated to wake him. A quick run to the corner bakery sounded like a much better plan, and maybe he could stop at the little store that carried the marmalade that Methos had raved about the last time he visited.

He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his coat, then sidetracked by the bed to bestow a soft kiss on Methos' forehead. "I'll be back soon," he said softly, then hurried out. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return.

 

* * *

Amanda watched the taxi driver set her bags beside the gangplank, handing him the fare plus a handsome tip. He thanked her profusely, once more offering to take the bags onto the barge, and she once more refused. Leaving the suitcases for now, she hurried inside, grinning at the thought of surprising Duncan by her unexpected return. A tingle of Immortal presence reassured her that he was home and not off on one of his ridiculous crusades for justice, and she could hardly wait to tell him her news.

As she shed her coat on the couch, she saw that he was still in bed and laughed out loud. "Duncan! I never thought I'd see the day when you'd sleep in this late! Were you at a wild party last night?"

As she talked, she started up the stairs to the bed, her eyes feasting on the body sprawled on the sheets: long, muscular legs, round ass cheeks, slender back, tousled hair....She paused a few feet away from the bed, frowning. The skin was too pale, the hair too short, and there was something _wrong_ about that build...

"Duncan?" she said uncertainly, then her eyes widened as she recognized the lean body. "Methos!"

Startled awake, Methos sat bolt upright in the bed and stared at the Immortal standing a few feet away. "Amanda!" Suddenly aware of his nakedness, he snatched the sheet and pulled it across his groin, flushing as he did so.

Amanda was enchanted. Methos always seemed so in control, so cool and above the crowd -- except for that one time when he'd broken down crying in her arms over Alexa, but she hated to think about anything unpleasant, so she pushed that aside. The sight before her was _definitely_ pleasant, and a wide, mischievous smile crossed her face.

"My, my, my. Look who Red Riding Hood found in Grandma's bed. And my, what a big- "

"What are you doing here?" Methos asked sharply.

"I dropped by to visit Duncan, of course," she purred, sitting down on the bed. "And just look what I found instead. Are you staying here while Duncan's out of town?"

"Not exactly," Methos said, looking around for a hint of Duncan's whereabouts. His coat was gone, as were the keys and wallet from the nightstand, so he wasn't out running. Methos' lips tightened; another morning-after avoided in what appeared to be Duncan's usual manner.

"Do you mind? I'd like to get dressed."

Amanda reclined back on her elbows. "I don't mind at all."

"Amanda!" he said indignantly and she collapsed, laughing. "I don't see what's so funny."

"If you could see the look on your face..."

Methos pulled the sheet free and wrapped it around his waist as he headed for the bathroom. Amanda watched him avidly.

"Oh, my!" she said archly as she caught sight of passion marks on his shoulder. "I see Duncan's in town after all. And what naughty games have you boys been up to?"

Methos paused in the doorway. "None of your business."

"Don't be that way," Amanda said, affecting a pout. "I'm not jealous, and I certainly don't mind sharing Duncan with you."

"How generous of you," Methos said dryly. He gave up the idea of a shower, deciding to get dressed and leave instead.

"I thought so," Amanda said contentedly. "You know, this reminds me of the weekend Duncan and Fitz and I spent in the French countryside. We hardly got out of bed the whole time," she said dreamily.

"Do tell," Methos said. He'd located his boxers which, for some inexplicable reason, were hanging from the headboard, but since he'd have to go near Amanda to get them, he gave them up for lost. He found his jeans and, with some judicious wiggling, managed to pull them up under the cover of the sheet. Minimally covered, he discarded that and went looking for his shirt.

"You're much better looking than Fitz."

Methos gave her a sour look. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. We had a lot of fun. Too bad it didn't last beyond that weekend," she said with a sigh, rolling onto one side so she could continue watching Methos dress, not noticing him stiffen.

"Why _didn't_ it last?" he asked carefully as he pulled on his sweater.

"Don't know," she said with a shrug. "Fitz always bored easily, and Duncan's flings with men never lasted long. Anyway, Duncan has this thing about commitment, even in the short-term."

"So I've heard," Methos said quietly. He located his boots and sat down to lace them up, wincing slightly at the combination of tight jeans and well-used ass. Amanda was rattling on about something, probably more stories about Mac's amorous adventures, but Methos couldn't focus on her words. His ears were ringing, his stomach was nauseous, and he needed to get out before he made a complete fool of himself. Correction, a bigger fool than he already had.

He drew in a deep breath, pasting on a smile as he stood. After all, last night had been pleasant and at least he had a memory to associate with the little parasite growing inside. Now he just needed to get out, find that little village, have the baby, and get on with his life.

"Are you going?" Amanda said in disappointed tones.

"Just remembered I have errands to run," Methos said with as much brightness as he could. "I've got a sudden craving for yak butter, so I'll just run along and see what I can hunt up."

"All right," Amanda said, sitting up with a sigh. Since she was prone to sudden decisions herself, she saw nothing unusual in his words. "I'll tell Duncan if you'd like."

"Don't bother," Methos said, pulling on his coat and checking that his weapons were in place. "I'll ring him myself later this week." With one last wistful look around the barge, he left.

In minutes, he was on the quay, walking quickly in the direction of his flat with his cell phone in hand. There was so much to be done: airline reservations, bags to pack, arrangements to make regarding the packing and storing of his things. Julian - he really should call Julian and let him know where he was going.

But first he had to get out of town before Duncan had a chance to realize he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Duncan entered the barge and set the bags of pastries, fruit, and other assorted goodies he'd purchased on the counter, then glanced up toward the bed. It was empty but he could hear the shower running, and he smiled to himself. He had hoped to catch Methos still in bed but this was just as good.  After all, Methos really should eat some breakfast before Duncan dragged him back to bed. Thinking about that long, lean body pressed up against his own stirred his cock. A very _short_ breakfast.

The shower cut off and he crossed to tap on the door. "Morning, sleepyhead. I've got pastries for breakfast, and I picked up some of that marmalade you like. Would you prefer hot chocolate or herbal tea?"

The door opened and a voice much higher than Methos', said, "Actually, I'm dying for a cup of coffee. Be a dear and make me one."

Duncan's jaw dropped. "Amanda? What - where's Methos?" He tried to peer past her into the steam-filled bathroom.

Amanda smirked. "Not in here, darling. Although I certainly wouldn't mind if he was.  Who knew there was such a _gorgeous_ body under those baggy clothes? Well, obviously _you_ did, but you could have shared."

"He was still here when you arrived?"

"Yes, indeed, large as life and naked to boot," she said, pretending to fan herself. "At first I thought he was crashing here while you were out of town, but when I saw those love-bites on his shoulder....Let's just say I recognized the MacLeod trademark."

He suppressed a flash of jealousy at the thought of Amanda seeing Methos naked. "Did he say where he was going?"

She shrugged. "Just that he had some errands to run. I told him not to leave on _my_ account -- and why didn't you tell me about this? All the fun the three of us could have had- "

Duncan frowned, wondering what kind of errand would drag Methos away right now. "And he didn't say what kind of errand?"

Amanda crossed the room to sit on the bed. "Of course he did, but you know what Methos is like. He talks and it's only later that you realize he didn't really _say_ anything. There was something about a craving..."

"Cravings?" Duncan asked. According to the books he'd read, food cravings didn't come till later on during pregnancy. "What kind?"

"Honestly, Duncan, how should _I_ know? Some strange kind of butter, and speaking of which, why don't you come over here and sit down?" She patted the bed next to her invitingly. "You haven't even kissed me hello yet."

"Butter? Are you sure?"

She sighed. "I'm _positive_. He said, 'I've got a sudden craving for yak butter, so I think I'll just run along and see what I can hunt up.' _Now_ will you come over here?"

"Shit!" Duncan dove for the phone, rapidly dialing Methos' number. There was no answer and he threw it back down, grabbing his keys and wallet from the table.

"Duncan, what on earth..."

He turned to look at her appealingly. "Amanda, I'm sorry but I've got to run. If I don't find Methos now, God knows _where_ he'll take off to." He opened his wallet and took out one of his credit cards. "Check yourself into a nice hotel and order a wonderful lunch. I'll call you later and take you out to dinner, I promise."

She crossed the room, a slight frown on her face. "You really care about him, don't you?"

"Yeah." Duncan took her face between his hands and said, seriously, "Amanda, you know how much you mean to me and that you'll always hold a special place in my heart, but - "

"But he's the _One_ ," she said softly, and a smile touched her lips. "I know just what you mean. And you better not let him get away."

"I don't intend to," he said, kissing her one last time. "Amanda, you're an angel and I'll invite you to the wedding -- or the christening, whichever comes first.  Lock up when you leave - and don't steal _anything_!"

As he hurried out, she considered his odd words for a moment, then shrugged. Picking up the credit card, she tapped it against her cheek and smiled. Understanding, yes, but no angel, and this was going to cost Duncan MacLeod _big_.

 

* * *

 

Duncan banged on the door of Methos' apartment, not in the least surprised that there was no answer. "Adam! Open up! I know you're inside and I'm not leaving till we talk."

A moment later, the door opened and the point of a sword emerged, touching the hollow of his neck. He swallowed, holding up his hands to show he didn't intend to fight. Methos' eyes glittered at him.

"Where's Amanda?"

"Checking into the most expensive hotel in town, if I know her," Duncan answered. "Either that, or charging my card to the limit at Cartier's. May I come in?"

Without a word, Methos lowered the sword and walked away, and Duncan entered the apartment. As he closed the door behind him, he caught sight of a suitcase packed and sitting by the door. He saw another bag on the bed. Methos emerged from the bathroom with his shaving kit in hand.

"Going somewhere?" Duncan asked.

"As a matter of fact, Bora-Bora is very nice this time of year." Methos tucked the shaving kit into the bag, then picked up a stack of books on the nightstand and sorted through them before putting two in the bag.

Duncan crossed his arms. "You told Amanda you were going to Tibet."

"I don't recall mentioning a destination to the lovely Amanda, but it's possible." Methos shrugged his shoulders. "Plans change."

"So I see."

"If you hurry you can stop Amanda before she does irreversible damage to your credit."

"It's only money and I don't want to stop her. I want to stop _you_." Methos shook his head and went over to his desk, riffling through the drawers. "What happened?"

Methos stopped his desultory searching and let out an exasperated breath. "You know, after waking up alone for the _second_ time - "

"I didn't intend to leave you alone," Duncan protested. "I went out for breakfast.  There was _nothing_ in the place to feed you."

" - and being awakened by the arrival of your _girlfriend_ \- "

"I _didn't_ invite her! I didn't even know she was coming!  Besides, Amanda is my past. You're my present."

Methos closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers. He was tired, so tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep but he had too many things to do today. Chief of which was to get Duncan MacLeod out while he still could. "I can't _be_ just your present. I was never any good at that 'living in the moment' shit. I'm a planner. I have to be able to see tomorrow and next year and the year after that. I can do spur-of-the-moment but that's because I always have a dozen plans in mind. It's my _nature_ , MacLeod."

Duncan was stunned. Was Methos saying what he thought he was saying? Was he wanting a future together, despite what he'd said in the past about never settling down with an Immortal?

" - will let you know when the baby is born. We can set up a shared custody agreement later: Christmas holidays with you and summers with me, or something like that."

Duncan snapped back to awareness of what Methos was saying and couldn't help smiling. "I'm afraid that's not good enough."

Methos ground his teeth together and tried not to snap at Duncan. His head was pounding, his stomach roiling, and his heart was breaking. "You have something else in mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I was thinking about a long-term arrangement."

"What? I take one decade and you take the next? That wouldn't be good for the child."

"I'm not talking about the child," Duncan said, pulling Methos out of the chair and into his arms. "I'm talking about _us_."

Methos braced his hands against Duncan's chest, frowning. "There isn't an _us_."

"But I'd like there to be," Duncan said softly. "I don't want you to just be my present; I want you to be my future, too."

Methos gave him a wary look. "For how long? Until the child is grown up?"

Duncan shrugged. "For starters, so that's at least twenty years. Of course, if he or she goes on to graduate school, that could be another ten. And I doubt that either of us would be willing to let someone else teach the child about being Immortal, so tack on another ten years or so. At that point, we might as well add another ten to make it an even fifty."

"Fifty years together. You and me," Methos said, disbelievingly.

"Give or take a century," Duncan said. "Personally, I think we should try to top Gina and Robert's record."

Methos pushed at Duncan, breaking free. "Not funny, MacLeod."

"Not meant to be," Duncan returned. "I'm serious. I could go down on one knee if you'd like." He caught hold of his lover again, pulling him closer. "Look, we seem to have been at cross-purposes since this whole thing began. Misunderstanding each other's motives, feelings. That's got to stop before we destroy each other."

Warily, Methos said, "What do you propose?"

"The truth. From both of us." He drew in a deep breath. "I'm not very good at saying things like this, but if there's one thing I've learned it's that we don't always get a second chance. Life is too short, even Immortal life. So the truth of the matter is that I want us to be together for the rest of our lives."

"What about Amanda?" Methos said. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, that there wasn't enough oxygen in the world to fill his lungs.

"Amanda is a dear friend and I'll always be fond of her, but I'm in love with _you_ , Methos."

Methos gaped at him. "Love?"

"Love," Duncan confirmed and lowered his head to take Methos' mouth. His kiss was demanding and possessive, the kind of kiss he'd been afraid to give Methos, thinking it would scare him off. But it seemed to make Methos cling to him tighter, returning each kiss with a fervor of his own.

"I take it this is a 'yes'," Duncan murmured when he tore his mouth away.

"You talk too much," Methos said, his hands pulling Duncan's shirt free of his pants so he could slide his hands up Duncan's back.

"And you don't talk enough," Duncan said, pulling back slightly. "What's it going to be? Gonna let me make an honest man out of you?"

Methos had to laugh at that. "Yes."

"Good." Duncan pulled Methos back against him, devouring his mouth again. He paused in his kissing only long enough to remove the bulky sweater his lover insisted on wearing, tossing it to one side, then resumed his oral attentions. Finding a T-shirt under that but unwilling to stop kissing, he ripped it open so he could caress the sleek skin.

"Hey!" Methos protested. "That was my favorite!"

"I'll buy you another," Duncan said thickly, backing Methos towards the bed.

Methos couldn't help laughing as Duncan tumbled them both onto the bed. "If you have any money left after Amanda gets done with your credit card."

"I'll get more. I've got warehouses full of antiques." He nuzzled at Methos' neck. "Or I could just live off of you."

Methos snorted. "Right. Adam Pierson doesn't have a job anymore, remember?"

"And if you try to tell me that you don't have a dozen different accounts scattered around the world under a dozen different names, I'll call you a liar to your face."

Methos chuckled, although it was partly a gasp as Duncan's mouth began traveling down his body. "I knew it. You're a gold-digger, MacLeod."

"No. I don't love you for your money; I love you for your body." To prove his point, he swallowed Methos' cock to the root, making the older Immortal gasp and surge up off the bed.

"Mac!" he screamed, feeling his release surge through him. A moment later, he flopped down on the bed and groaned. "Jesus, Mac. Haven't you ever heard of going _slow_?"

Duncan chuckled and kissed him. "What's the matter, old man? Can't keep up?"

Methos growled and grabbed Duncan, rolling him over and pinning him. "I'll show you _old_!" He kissed Duncan ruthlessly, and Duncan wrapped his arms tightly around the other man.

A grunt of pain from Methos made Duncan loosen his grip in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that," Duncan said sharply. He shifted so he could look at his lover's back, finding nothing more than the love-bites of the previous night. "You're a little bruised - I must have pressed down on one of these."

"See, I told you it was nothing. Other than the fact that I was mauled by a crazed Highlander."

Duncan grinned, remembering what Amanda had said about the MacLeod trademark. "I don't remember you complaining about it last night. Last night!" he exclaimed as the anomaly suddenly pierced his sex-fogged brain. "These should have healed by now!"

Methos shrugged. "So my healing abilities are a little slow."

"A _little_ slow? Methos - "

"Julian said this would happen," Methos said. "Once the baby's born, everything will return to normal. In the meantime..."

Duncan felt a surge of panic. "You have to be careful. No knives.  Do you use a safety razor? Maybe an electric would be better. And you'd better let me sharpen your sword for you."

"Whoa!" Methos said, latching onto the other man. "I'm _fine_ , Mac."

Duncan clutched his lover's arms then, remembering, abruptly let him go. "I'm sorry - "

"That's _enough_ ," Methos said sharply. "I'm not made of china. I'm not going to break if you grab me tightly, and if I get cut I'll heal. Just like any of the _mortals_ you've loved."

Duncan pulled Methos into his arms, clutching him tightly against his chest. "No. Not just like them. You're not going to die. Do you hear me, Methos? You're not going to die!"

"No, I'm not going to die," Methos said, cursing his clumsy handling of this and ignoring the fact that either of them could die any time. He knew that wasn't what Duncan needed to hear.

He kissed Duncan gently, easing down onto his back and pulling Duncan with him. "I'm alive, and I've got a lot of practice at staying alive. I'm not going to die."

Duncan kissed him back, his hands ghosting over Methos' body as if to check that Methos was alive and unharmed. The touches intensified slightly but still remained gentler than usual as Duncan teased and aroused his lover. Methos didn't protest at being treated so delicately: there would be time to do that later, when Duncan was feeling more anchored. For now, this was what Duncan needed and he gave it to him. And afterwards, lying carefully wrapped in the sleeping Highlander's strong arms, Methos guarded his shattered lover's rest.

 

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

 

For the second time that day, Duncan woke to the warmth of a long body pressed against his own.

He smiled and decided that he could get used to this, and then tried to wrap his mind around the knowledge that he might get the chance to do just that. Had he actually proposed to Methos? He distinctly remembered saying something along those lines, if not those exact words, offering to go down on his knees, to make Methos 'an honest man'. His smile widened. He was amazed that Methos hadn't decked him for that one. In fact, he was floored that Methos had actually said 'yes', although in retrospect it was a little hazy what Methos had said 'yes' to. They'd have to talk. He wanted to make sure Methos knew it was permanence and commitment Duncan wanted, something he couldn't imagine Methos accepting.

But, come to think of it, wasn't he being unfair to the man? What had given him the idea that Methos wasn't capable of commitment? He'd been married before, many, many times if Duncan could believe him, even if he'd never settled down with an Immortal. And no matter how he'd come to be with them, the fact remained that he'd been with the Horsemen for a thousand years, had still felt loyal to his 'brother' Silas, even when forced to fight him.

And didn't he have ample proof of just how much Methos could give? The first day they'd met, Methos had offered his secret and his head. Sure, he'd disappeared afterward, but though Duncan had been disappointed and oddly bereft, he'd understood. And he'd come back, showing up on Duncan's doorstep time and again to help him, allowing himself to be forced back into a Game he no longer wanted to play. Hadn't he left the side of a dying woman to save Duncan from himself during the Dark Quickening, risking his own head? And hadn't he chosen Duncan over his 'brothers', and over his former student?

Warmth filled him, combined with a sense of awe and gratitude.  Out of all the Immortals in the world, Methos had picked _him_ to make his friend, his lover. Not to mention this gift, this miracle he hadn't even known to pray for. He tightened his hold, nuzzling Methos' neck.

Duncan felt Methos' body shift alongside his as he woke, then Methos pushed back the covers, moving to get up. Unconsciously, Duncan tightened his hold on the other man. "Don't go."

Methos sighed. "I have to take a leak."

"Oh." Duncan reluctantly released him, watching as Methos slid out of bed and padded  to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later and stretched, unselfconscious about his nakedness, and Duncan could feel his body responding to the sight. "Come back to bed."

Methos gave him an amused look, taking in the glint in Duncan's eyes and the deepened tone of his voice. "You're insatiable. And as much fun as that sounds, I've got things to do."

Duncan sat up. "You're not leaving."

Methos stiffened at the peremptory tone but said, "No, I'm not leaving. Which means I've got unpacking to do."

Duncan bit his tongue, wanting to suggest that Methos bring his suitcases to the barge. Joe had warned him about pushing too hard, but then again, Methos had seemed reassured by his earlier declaration of possessiveness. And Duncan wanted nothing more than to wake up every morning like he had _this_ morning.

"Plenty of time to do that later," he said, hoping that later he could raise the subject.

Methos gave him an exasperated look. "You never give up, do you? I'd also like a shower and something to eat."

"Hell!" Duncan said, suddenly reminded of his lover's condition. He threw back the covers and got out of bed, heading for Methos. "You never got any breakfast, did you? It must be past lunchtime by now.  Sit down, for God's sake, before you pass out or something!"

Methos evaded Duncan. "Lighten up, MacLeod.  I'm not a fragile flower."

Duncan ignored his comment, going into the kitchen and picking up the prescription bottles. "Your meds. You didn't take them either."

"As a matter of fact, I did, the last time I got up." Methos picked up his discarded jeans and pulled them on, resigned to the fact that it would be awhile before he got his shower.

"Which was?"

"An hour ago."

Duncan frowned. "You were up an hour ago? What for?" Seeing Methos flush slightly and look away, Duncan returned to his lover's side, grasping his arms. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Methos said, trying to push Duncan aside.

"Methos."

Methos knew that tone of voice, the one that meant Duncan wouldn't give up, and he sighed. "If you must know, I had to piss."

Duncan frowned. "But you just..."

"I know," Methos said, irritated. "Believe me, I know. This damn thing has got me pissing every hour." He saw Duncan's lips twitch and shoved him away in exasperation. "Glad I could  amuse you, MacLeod." He stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

A moment later as he stood under water as hot as he could tolerate, Methos felt a brush of cool air just before a body stepped in behind him. Warm lips brushed against the nape of his neck as arms wrapped around him.

"Need someone to wash your back?"

Methos managed to suppress his grin, letting just the corners of his mouth curve up as he turned around. "I could be persuaded," he murmured. "Think Amanda's available?"

Duncan snorted and playfully smacked his backside. "She's seen you naked once already - and that's one time too many."

Methos gave him a speculative look. "Going to be possessive, MacLeod?"

_The hell with Joe_ , Duncan thought. He'd stake his claim and trust that Methos would tell him when he needed to back off. "Yes," Duncan said firmly, and took his lover's mouth in a breath-stealing kiss. "Got a problem with that?"

"Me? None whatsoever." And then he pinned him against the shower wall with a devastating kiss as Methos demonstrated that possessiveness was a two-way street.

 

* * *

 

Joe and Richie sat in the bar after the mid-day rush, companionably nursing their beers. When Joe saw Richie stiffen slightly in his chair, he glanced towards the doorway, expecting to see either Duncan or Methos. Instead, his eyes widened as he recognized the woman bearing down on their table with shopping bags in hand.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," he said. "I thought you were still in Canada."

A glare in his direction let him know what she thought about the Watchers, then Amanda brushed a kiss over Richie's cheek and dropped into a chair with a contented sigh. "I had some business in Paris."

"What, there aren't any stores back home?" Richie asked with a grin.

"Shopping isn't business, it's pleasure. Especially when Duncan's footing the bill." A smile curved her mouth.

Joe and Richie exchanged a look. "You're seen Mac today?"

She nodded, picking up the drink the waitress brought her. "Stopped by when I got in this morning." A mischievous look lit her face. "Actually, Duncan wasn't there when I arrived but Methos was, and a _very_ nice sight he was, too." She looked at Richie reproachfully. "You were remiss, not letting me know about them."

"Um, it's very recent," Richie stammered, flushing at the memory of his mentor and the old man locked in an embrace.

"So I gathered," Amanda smirked.

"Then you're okay with it?" Richie asked.

"As long as Duncan is happy." Her smile widened. "And it's amazing how consoling a platinum card can be."

"Besides which, I understand you have a little action going in that area yourself," Joe said blandly. "What's his name - Nick something?"

Richie looked interested and Amanda rolled her eyes. "Is there _nothing_ you Watchers don't pry into? Anyways, I'm _much_ more interested in hearing about Duncan and Methos. When did this happen?"

"Last night," Richie said.

"Six weeks ago," Joe said simultaneously.

Amanda gave them an exasperated look. "Which is it?"

"They got together _originally_ six weeks ago, but then there were misunderstandings," Joe said. "And if you want to know anything else, you're going to have to ask Mac."

"Oh, believe me, I will." And the look on Amanda's face, a combination of determination and smug certainty made Joe glad that he wasn't Duncan MacLeod.

 

* * *

 

"No."

Duncan glanced over at Methos, sitting in the passenger seat of his car. "Why not?"

"Ever heard the saying 'two's company, three's a crowd'?"

"This is Amanda we're talking about."

"Exactly my point. And if you think that I'm going to sit through dinner with the two of you making digs at my expense, then you have another think coming. You can drop me with Joe if you're worried about a sitter."

"You haven't ad dinner."

"MacLeod, you forced an enormous lunch down me only three hours ago. I'll be digesting for days." Seeing the determined set of Duncan's chin, he sighed. "All right, Mother; I promise to grab dinner with the boys."

"You'd better," Duncan said grudgingly, turning the car towards the club where Joe would be. "You know how important nutrition is, particularly during the first three months."

Methos rolled his eyes. "That's it. When we get back to the barge, I'm burning those pregnancy books."

Duncan looked at Methos in mock-horror. "You? Burn a _book_? The Gathering _is_  near."

Methos gave him a withering look. "All right, I'll hide them."

"Seriously, though," Duncan said, glancing at Methos' still-flat abdomen. "It's going to be fine, right? You're Immortal and that's got to give the baby an edge of some sort."

Methos frowned slightly. "I'm not the expert on these things, Mac. Julian is."

"And just how did he get to be an expert, if you've only heard of about a dozen of these? Right place, right time only goes so far."

"He came upon the first one by accident, about a hundred years after his First Death. We weren't together any more; he'd decided to do some traveling, studying healing techniques in other countries. While he was in the Far East, he ran into another couple like my friends, and delivered their baby. He also thought it was due to their age since they were near a thousand."

"What happened to the child?" Duncan asked, remembering that Methos had told him that none of the others were alive.

"He never experienced First Death. As a young boy, he joined a lamasery and eventually died a peaceful death at a revered old age."

"So how did your friend figure it out?"

"He ran into a pair of male Immortals. They had been friends from childhood, sword brothers, suffered First Death in the same battle. They were inseparable but they were not lovers."

"Until they shared a Quickening."

Methos nodded. "And they were young, only a couple hundred years old. Julian put together what he knew from the two pairs he'd seen and the pair I told him about, and he made some deductions. Since then, he's gathered information on others that he's heard about as well as those who've come to him because of his expertise. Among Immortals, he's the closest thing we have to a specialist."

"Why the interest? It can't be lucrative."

"He's not in it for the money, MacLeod," Methos snapped. "He does it because he _can_. Because he wants to help others."

"Because of his wife?" Duncan asked, glancing at Methos briefly. "Joe told me."

"Watcher records don't tell everything, Mac. They can't begin to describe the vibrant young woman Livia was, or how much Julian loved her. How he grieved with her when year after childless year passed. It broke both their hearts when he was forced to put her aside."

Duncan was silent for a long moment, imagining their anguish. "So when will we know everything is going as it should? Aren't there pictures or tests they can do to check?"

" _You're_ the one with the books."

"Julian must have said _something_."

Methos glanced out the window.  "I don't know. I really wasn't paying attention."

"Because you weren't planning on having it," Duncan said quietly. He could feel Methos' surprise. "Richie heard you talking to Julian."

"Bloody hell," Methos muttered. "Look, Mac, I haven't been thrilled about this, but I've never seriously considered ending it. Even if it's not the best thing for me personally."

A sudden icy fear touched Duncan's heart as he remembered the marks that bore a silent testimony to Methos' reduced healing abilities. "This isn't dangerous for your health, is it? I mean, it can't kill you, can it? Because if that's the case, it's not worth it."

There was silence in the car for a long moment, then Methos said, a peculiar tone in his voice, "What did you say?"

"I said it's not worth it." Duncan drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he had to say. "Because if it comes down to your life or the baby's, there's not even a question. You're too important to lose."

"Pull over."

The command was delivered crisply, and Duncan gave Methos a startled look. "What?"

"I said, pull over."

Duncan numbly wondered what he'd done wrong now. "Why?"

"Because if I kiss you while you're driving, you'll probably wreck the car and kill us both."

"Oh. Well, since you put it that way..."

Duncan found an empty place at the curb and pulled over, shifting the gear to park. He'd hardly accomplished that before Methos was in his lap, kissing him so hard that Duncan thought he'd spontaneously combust. He grabbed onto Methos, not sure what he'd said right but sincerely grateful for the results.

A thumping on the roof of the car and a familiar laughing voice saying, "Get a room, guys, for chrissake," made him reluctantly release his lover. He traced a finger over Methos' swollen lips and Methos gave him a smile, the one  Duncan rarely saw but loved with all his heart, one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"Go on," Methos said, giving him a last, brief kiss before turning to open his door. "Amanda's waiting for her dinner."

"What about you?" Duncan asked, trying not to grab onto Methos as he got out of the car.

Methos paused in the car's doorway and gave him another of those smiles. "I'm going to be fine, Duncan MacLeod. We'll both be fine. And I'll be waiting here for you when you're done."

He closed the door and stepped onto the curb. Duncan hesitated, watching for a moment as Joe and Richie shepherded Methos towards the club's entrance. Richie was razzing the older Immortal about making out in a car in public with Methos giving back as good as he got, and Joe was shaking his head and chuckling.

_My family_ , Duncan thought, and happiness seemed to bubble inside his veins. He could see Methos pause in the doorway, looking back at him with one eyebrow raised quizzically while a smile hovered on his lips, and that look made Duncan almost giddy with euphoria.

He put the car into gear and headed towards Amanda's hotel, hoping that he didn't get stopped by the police. As punch-drunk as he felt, he'd never convince them he was sober. 

* * *

 


	15. Chapter 15

Amanda looked up as she felt Immortal presence and smiled as Duncan strode across the lobby toward her.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, kissing her cheek. "You look beautiful, as always."

"And you look like you've been necking in the backseat of a car," she said in amusement, straightening his collar and tie. Duncan flushed and self-consciously smoothed back his hair. "You were, weren't you?"

"Actually, it was the front seat," Duncan admitted.

"You're incorrigible."

"Me? It was M-Adam's idea," he said indignantly.

"And you fought him off, tooth and nail?" She laughed, patting his cheek. "Where is the rogue, anyways? Making repairs in the gent's?"

"He bailed," Duncan said mournfully. "Took off with Joe, leaving me to face the Inquisition alone."

"Poor baby," Amanda said with mock-sympathy, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm as they headed towards the restaurant. "And you really expected different?"

"I've learned not to expect anything where Adam's concerned.  It's safer that way."

Amanda gave him a concerned look as she sat down at their table. "And you're happy, Duncan? Truly happy?"

He nodded, toying with his water glass to avoid looking at her. "It's...complicated, Amanda. But yes, I'm happy. I'm just sorry if I've disappointed you in any way."

Amanda smiled ruefully. "Actually, that's why I came back to Paris. I had something to tell you, something I wanted you to hear from me, not Watcher or Immortal gossip."

Duncan looked up at her, noticing for the first time the shine in her eyes. "You've fallen in love." She nodded, flushing slightly as she did, and his smile widened. "Amanda, that's wonderful! Tell me all about him."

She did over the course of their meal, and Duncan was amused that Amanda had fallen in love with an ex-cop. She seemed amused, too, but at the same time there was a contentment about her that he'd never seen. It caused a little pang to realize that she had moved on, that what they'd had on-and-off for so long was over, but he was glad for her at the same time.

When dessert arrived, Amanda turned the conversation back to Duncan's own romance. "So is Adam as serious about this as you are?"

"I hope so. I asked him to marry me, and he said 'yes'. I think."

"You think?"

Duncan flushed. "I got a little distracted."

Amanda smirked. "I can imagine. And I can certainly understand the attraction; he's delicious." She took a sip from her wine glass. "What I'm having trouble understanding is this sudden urge for domestic bliss."

Duncan hesitated for a moment. "It's complicated."

"It's _Methos_. Of course it's complicated."

"He's pregnant."

Amanda choked. "He's _what_?"

"Pregnant. And I'm the other father."

"Pregnant," Amanda said, dazed. "Then it's true. It really can happen."

Duncan looked at her in surprise. "You've heard about this happening to Immortals?"

Amanda shook her head slightly. "Not really. Rebecca told me that she knew someone once, an Immortal, who claimed to have been born of Immortal parents and raised by them. I dismissed it as madness or a lie, but Rebecca thought it was true and wanted to find out more."

"Did she?"

"I don't know. If she did, she never spoke of it to me." Amanda gave him a shrewd look. "Did you know?"

"Before it happened?" Duncan shook his head. "I found out a week ago. _He_ knew."

"I'm not surprised," Amanda said dryly. "Then it's some big secret, right? Something I'd be safer off not knowing about the details?"

"Probably," Duncan said, grateful for her understanding. "Just - there have to be some pretty special circumstances for it to happen."

"I can imagine." She gave him another appraising look. "You're marrying him because of the baby."

"I'm marrying him because I love him. The baby is just a bonus."

"Does he know that? Because the man I saw earlier, the one you went dashing after this morning, seemed uncertain about a lot of things."

The interlude earlier in the car suddenly made sense and Duncan smiled. "He does now." A sudden urge to be with his lover filled him and he signaled their waiter for the check.

Amanda gave him an amused look and pushed away her half-full plate. Duncan MacLeod in the heat of love was always amusing, and that he'd fallen for a man soothed any jealousy she might have felt. She decided to delay her return home for a bit. This was just too much fun to miss.

 

* * *

 

Methos, Joe and Richie were sitting around a table, arguing about the upcoming soccer finals, when Duncan and Amanda entered the club. Both of the seated Immortals looked up briefly, verifying the new arrivals, although Amanda noticed that Methos' eyes lingered on Duncan longer than usual. She couldn't help smirking; apparently Duncan wasn't the only infatuated one in this little romance.

"Hello, gentlemen," she said, sliding into the chair Duncan pulled out for her. "You're looking in fine fettle tonight. Did you leave anything for the rest of us to drink?"

"Oh, we might have left something," Joe drawled.

"I hope so.  I've worked up a thirst," Amanda said, and signaled the waitress, ordering another round for everyone and her usual. She was surprised when the waitress put a bottled water in front of Methos. "You've given up drinking, Adam?"

Methos flushed and Joe snorted. "Yeah, and having him on the wagon might actually put the place into the black this month." Methos shot an irritated look at Joe but he just laughed.

Amanda gave Methos a surprised look, hiding her own amusement. "Whatever for?"

Methos gave Duncan a pointed look. "Ask him. And if you'll excuse me..."

He stood up and headed towards the restroom. To Amanda's surprise, Richie just about fell apart laughing and Joe looked at his watch with a grin.

"Right on schedule."

"What?" Amanda asked, irritated to be left out of the joke.  Even Duncan was grinning.

Duncan cleared his throat. "It seems that Adam's condition is affecting his bladder, something about the change in hormones."

"He's been hitting the can every hour on the hour," Joe said with a wide grin.

Amanda's eyes widened. "When you said...I hadn't thought about how _real_ this was."

"Oh, it's real enough," Duncan said. "Those marks you saw; I didn't give them to him this morning. They were from last night."

Amanda frowned. "They hadn't healed?"

"Because his healing abilities are slower."

Richie looked appalled and Joe's forehead crinkled with concern. "I know that doctor friend of his said -- Mac! This is serious! He really can't fight, can he?" the Watcher asked. "Any cut would incapacitate him."

"Duncan, you've got to get him out of town," Amanda said urgently. "To someplace not overflowing with Immortals, to holy ground."

"You really think he'd go?" Duncan asked. "Besides, the only doctor who knows about these things is here in Paris.  We can't go to just _any_ doctor. What if he has a problem during pregnancy? And I don't know if he can deliver the baby without a C-section. He's not equipped to deliver the usual way and I don't think the, um, other way stretches that much."

Both Joe and Richie winced at the idea and couldn't help giving Methos a sympathetic look as he returned. Catching their glances, he said, warily, "What?"

"Are you okay?" Amanda asked, concern on her face as she gripped his arm.

"I'm _fine_ ," he said reassuringly, covering her hand with his and glaring at Duncan. "I don't know what Mac has been saying, but I'm just fine. Cutting out beer is just a precaution."

"You can't _fight_!" she nearly wailed. "You shouldn't be here.  You should be on holy ground.  God dammit, what were you _thinking_?"

"I wasn't thinking - obviously!" Methos retorted as he dropped his hand. He took a deep breath. "So Mac told you."

"I told her about you, about us," Duncan said quietly, his eyes anxiously studying his lover's face. "I didn't tell her _how_."

Methos nodded. "Wiser that way." He glanced at Richie. "I expect Mac told you, too."

"I guessed," Richie said with simple pride. "Joe filled me in on the rest, although he didn't tell me how, either, just that there were 'special circumstances involved'."

"The fewer people that know the full story, the better," Methos said. "For your own safety."

Amanda blanched, picturing unscrupulous Immortals producing dynasties. "I'll say."

"So, Mac," Joe said, deftly changing the subject. "Adam says you've offered to make an honest man outta him. That on the level?"

Duncan looked over at Methos, surprised and pleased that his lover had told their friends on his own. Methos gave him a half-smile, one corner of his mouth quirking up, and Duncan returned the smile. "Yeah, Joe. And he said yes."

"Congrats, Mac, Adam!" Richie said with a grin. "You two deserve each other."

"I have a feeling we've just been insulted," Methos said mockingly.

"An occasion like this deserves a toast," Joe pronounced, lifting up his glass. "To Duncan and Adam: all the best, and may your lives together be long and happy."

"Hear, hear," Richie said, clinking his bottle with Joe's glass. "To Mac and Adam."

After drinking the toast, Amanda looked at the two men speculatively. "So are you two going to have a little ceremony or a big blowout?"

Duncan opened his mouth to say that he hadn't planned anything except a private exchange of rings, if he could get Methos to agree to that, then he abruptly shut his mouth. Joe and Richie were looking expectantly at him and he realized that it wouldn't be fair for his friends to be excluded from this change in their lives. Then there was Gina and Robert and Claudia and Connor - and what would Conner think when he found out that Duncan was marrying a man?

"We haven't decided yet," Methos said smoothly, and Duncan gave him a grateful look. "As a matter of fact, we should be going. We have a lot to discuss."

Duncan was a little alarmed by that sentence but he agreed and bid goodnight to everyone. Joe reminded Methos that they were going to get together in the morning to look over an old chronicle that the Watcher needed translated, then the two Immortals were walking down the street to Duncan's car.

Methos was silent, deep in thought, and Duncan felt an urge to break the quiet, lighten the mood. "So, your place or mine?"

Methos looked up, startled, and then smirked. "Am I to infer that you have carnal designs on my person?"

Duncan caught Methos' arm and pressed him up against the car. "Definitely," he said, snatching a quick kiss before releasing him so he could unlock the car door. "And I have some inducements if you'll come back to the barge," he added as he circled the car to get in on the driver's side. "I bought  that marmalade you like."

"Then your place, by all means," Methos said with a mock-gracious nod of his head.

Duncan smiled and started the car. "You are so easy."

"Fortunately for you," Methos retorted, but without heat. "I take it that your talk with Amanda went well? MacLeod finances aren't completely trodden in the dirt by a vengeful ex-lover?"

"Worried, old man?" Duncan asked with a grin. "Afraid you'll be marrying into poverty?"

"Of course. It's been centuries since I've been a kept man; I was looking forward to it."

Duncan chuckled and then said, only half-joking, "I'd keep you in the best of style, too."

"Does this mean mink and diamonds?" Methos asked with a grin.

Duncan gave him a horrified look. "With your coloring? What do you think I am, a barbarian? No, you're more suited for sable and emeralds." Methos gave him a startled look and Duncan smiled internally at having surprised him. "Actually, Amanda was rather decent about the whole thing.  It only cost me a pair of diamond earrings and an expensive suite for a week."

"I hope you got back your credit card," Methos murmured.

"And it turns out she came to Paris to tell me that _she_ was in love, and pretty seriously this time. An ex-cop, if you can believe it, and a pre-Immortal to boot."

Methos whistled. "Now _that's_ a surprise."

Duncan gave him a sideways look. "More so than us?"

Methos was silent for a moment, looking out the window. "We're not a surprise," he said quietly. "In a way, we were inevitable."

Duncan smiled, liking the sound of that.  He reached over to take Methos' hand in his, feeling the other man's fingers curl around his. He held it all the way back to the barge.


	16. Chapter 16

 

Duncan woke to the absence of warmth in his bed and sat up abruptly, looking around for his lover. The sound of the shower running reassured him, but for the first time he understood how Methos had felt when he'd woken up alone. At least Methos hadn't left - not yet, at any rate - and the scent of coffee brewing was reassuring.

He slid out of bed, grabbing his robe and belting it around his body before heading into the kitchen  to see what he could do about breakfast. A quick rummage through his refrigerator and cabinets produced the pastries and jams he'd bought the previous day and reminded him that he needed to do some.

The bathroom door opened and steam billowed out around the emerging figure. Wryly, Duncan realized he wouldn't be getting a hot shower for a while but the view more than compensated for that inconvenience. Methos had a towel slung around his narrow hips and was rubbing his hair with another, his bare chest glistening with water droplets. The sight made Duncan want to drag him back to bed.

Methos looked up and caught the look on Duncan's face, and he held up an admonishing hand. "Oh no, you don't, MacLeod. Joe's expecting me in an hour."

"So you can be late."

"And have him tease me about it all morning? No, thank you!" He moved towards the dresser. "Mind if I borrow some clothes?"

"Has that ever stopped you before?" Duncan asked pointedly. "Help yourself." He caught his breath as Methos dropped the towel and bent over to grab a set of sweats. "Tease."

Methos gave him an amused look over his shoulder as he tugged on the pants. "What's the matter? Didn't get enough last night?"

Duncan moved up behind Methos, sliding his arms around his lover as he nuzzled his neck. "I never get enough of you."

"Mmm," Methos tilted his head to give Duncan better access. "You're insatiable."

"You should talk. Who woke me at dawn trying to suck my brains out through my cock?"

"Complaining?"

"Never. Just hoped I could return the favor this morning." He pressed a kiss against the mark he'd left on Methos' neck earlier. Despite his worry about Methos' slowed healing response, there was satisfaction in marking his lover like this and knowing that it would be several hours before it faded.

"I'll take a rain-check for later." Methos slid out of his arms, heading for coffee and pastries.

Duncan sighed. "What are your plans for today?" he asked, hoping they'd be able to spend part of the day together.

"I've got to run by my place and change, then meet Joe. I promised to help him translate part of an old chronicle. It might be an early Watcher record on Darius."

Duncan nodded. "I'll get a quick shower and be ready to leave in half an hour."

Methos gave him an exasperated look. "I don't need a sitter, MacLeod."

"And you don't need to fend off challenges, either," Duncan said stubbornly.

"And what are you going to do while Joe and I are working? You don't do 'bored' very well, Mac.  You know I'll be perfectly safe with Joe."

"And you were just planning to walk over to your place and then to Joe's? What if you run into someone on the way?"

"Then I'll just run in the other direction," Methos said impatiently.

"Not good enough."

 Methos sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "Fine. I'll take a cab from here to Joe's and change later. Will that do?"

"I suppose," Duncan said reluctantly. He didn't want to drive his lover crazy but he couldn't help wanting to protect him.

Methos saw the look on his lover's face and relented. "I've got a check-up with Julian this afternoon. Would you like to come with me?"

It was worth the sacrifice of his pride to see the light come on in Duncan's eyes. "Are you sure you want me there?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll pick you up from Joe's.  What time's the appointment?"

"Two-thirty."

"If I pick you up at one, we can have a bite of lunch before we go."

"All right." Methos made a slight face as he pulled at the sweatshirt top. "Of course, that means I've got to spend the whole day in these."

Here was the opportunity Duncan had been awaiting. "Maybe you should think about leaving clothes here. I could clear out a drawer."

Methos gave him a look that was unreadable. "All right. And you could keep some clothes at my place, too."

"Sounds good," Duncan agreed, trying not to show how delighted he was at this concession. "Although the way you keep borrowing, and not returning, my clothes, I probably have an entire wardrobe there already."

"I don't borrow your socks or underwear."

"Which is good since you couldn't fit into them," Duncan returned.

"Exactly," Methos nodded. "Although it's not your fault you're less well-endowed - Mac!"

Silence reigned as Duncan pinned his irascible lover to the bed and kissed him into insensibility. When he finally let Methos breathe, there was a satisfactory bulge in the groin pressed against his. "You were saying?"

"All right, you win," Methos said breathlessly. "You're hung like a stallion, you're a giant among men and an inspiration to us all. Now can I eat my breakfast?"

Duncan chuckled and released Methos, rolling onto his back and watching as his lover regained his feet and attempted to adjust himself inside the sweatpants. "Problems?" he asked innocently, and chuckled as Methos shot him a bird. "I suppose it's a good thing I've got the morning to myself. I need to do some shopping.  The cupboards are literally bare."

Methos poured a cup of decaf, stirring a spoonful of sugar into it. "Plenty of food over at my place," he said, not looking over at Duncan. "I could whip up something for dinner.  You could do your shopping tomorrow after breakfast."

"Sounds good," Duncan agreed, trying not to grin from ear to ear, then decided that if Methos could do concessions, so could he. "I'd better call for that cab.  You don't want to be late meeting Joe."

Half an hour later, he watched from the barge as Methos climbed into the taxi with a brief wave in his direction. His lips were still warm with the taste of Methos and coffee and marmalade combined into one heady kiss, a combination he thought he could definitely get used to.

 

* * *

 

Duncan had showered and shaved and was settling down with a second cup of coffee  and the paper when the feel of Presence washed over him. Cautiously grasping his sword, he went to the door and glanced out. He  recognized the car outside and put away his sword, then went to meet the de Valincourts with a smile.

Gina hurried toward him, arms wide. "Duncan! Amanda told us the wonderful news!"

"What news?" he said warily, wondering just how much Amanda had let out of the bag.

"Why, your engagement, silly!" Gina said, kissing his cheek. "And such a sweet young man! I haven't forgotten the risk Adam took to save our marriage, even if he did hurt Robert."

Duncan grinned at the thought of "sweet" being applied to Methos and kissed her cheek in return. "We were both glad to help."

"Not that this is a surprise to me," Gina continued. "I told Robert you two were meant to be lovers. But marriage! you surprise me, yes?""

"Surprised myself," Duncan admitted. "But Adam is a very special person."

Gina led the way into the barge, taking a seat on the couch. "And of course we insist you hold the ceremony at our estate."

Belatedly, Duncan realized that he and Methos hadn't had a chance to discuss any plans. "We couldn't possibly impose."

"Impose? Don't be silly! We want to do this. Isn't that right, Robert?"

"Of course," Robert agreed. "The debt we owe you is more than we could ever repay."

"And we'll help with the arrangements," Gina said enthusiastically. "Food, music, ceremony....It is too bad we can't get a priest for a nuptial mass."

"Mass?" Duncan said, alarmed. "Really, Gina, that isn't necessary. And I'm pretty sure Adam's not Catholic."

She crinkled her nose. "He's English, yes?" She shrugged her shoulders. "It is no matter since the Church won't allow you both the sacrament as of yet, but one day..."

"Gina," Robert interrupted. "Duncan and Adam may have already made plans."

Gina turned an imploring look on Duncan and he could feel himself caving. "We haven't, but Adam doesn't care for a lot of fuss."

Gina beamed at him. "Don't worry, I shall take care of everything so that you two can just think about each other. How soon do you want the wedding to take place?"

Before Adam starts 'showing', he thought ruefully, rapidly calculating in his head. "A month?" That would put them at the end of the first trimester. Methos should be over the worst of sickness and starting to feel more energized, but without any noticeable bulge. He hoped. Another question to ask Julian Fremont this afternoon.

"Bon," Gina said and stood up, giving Duncan a last hug and kiss. "I shall be going, there is so much to be done. You and Adam must get me a list of guests by the end of the week." She hurried out, intent on plans.

Robert hung back a moment to give Duncan a reassuring embrace. "Not to worry, my friend," he said. "I shall restrain her from doing anything too extravagant."

Considering Robert's own rather flamboyant tastes, Duncan said wryly, "That doesn't reassure me much."

Robert just laughed and squeezed his arm, then went after his wife. Duncan drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Methos was probably going to kill him, but what other choice did he have? Unless they eloped, which would disappoint all their friends. And that reminded him that there was an important call he needed to make today. Checking the clock and calculating for time differences, and knowing that his cousin liked to start the day early, he decided that he would call Connor just before he left to pick up Methos.

 

* * *

 

"Connor MacLeod."

Duncan took a deep breath at the sound of the familiar voice on the other end of the phone. "Connor? It's Duncan."

"Duncan!" Connor sounded pleased and surprised. "It's good to hear you, lad. Are you in New York?"

"No, still in Paris." He paused, not sure how to begin what he had to tell Connor.

"Are you all right, Duncan?"

Duncan couldn't help smiling, reassured at the concern in his cousin's voice. "I'm fine. Better than fine, actually."

He could almost hear Connor relax. "You're in love." Connor sounded amused.

"Yeah. I am."

"Serious?"

"Very. We're getting married next month. I'd like...I was hoping you'd stand up with me."

"I'd be honored. Do I know the young lady? It's not Amanda?"

"No, it's not Amanda. As a matter of fact," Duncan took another breath. "It's a man." There was a long silence on the other end. "Connor?"

"I'm here. A little stunned, to tell the truth."

"He's Immortal.  His name is Adam."

Connor's voice sounded troubled. "Are you sure about this, Duncan? I know you've had trysts with men in the past but marriage... You're not confusing lust with love, are you?"

A series of images flashed through his mind: Methos' eyes crinkling in amusement, Methos sprawled on his couch and bed, Methos' acerbic wit and quirky humor. "I'm more sure than I've been of anything since Tessa."

"I'll be on a flight to Paris tomorrow."   Connor's voice was crisp, the _I'm your elder and I know best_  tone. 

"Connor, there's no need for you to come."

"You're marrying a man, an Immortal I've never heard of. Of course I'm coming."

"I'm not a child. I know what I'm doing."

Connor made a disbelieving noise. "Is he a young Immortal? Younger than you?"

"Um, no."

"Younger than me?"

"Um..."

"Duncan MacLeod, just how old is he?" Connor's voice held the non-nonsense edge that made Duncan wince.

"Old," he said, hedging.

"How old?"

"What does it matter how old?" Duncan asked defensively.

Connor sighed. "Because you're still a child in some ways, lad. And old Immortals can be...complicated."

Duncan muttered, "You can say that again," under his breath.

"And not entirely trustworthy."

Duncan drew in another deep breath, making himself calm down. "I'd trust him with my life, Connor. I have. And he trusts me with his."

"Then you have nothing to worry about. I'll call you later with my flight information."

Duncan sat with the phone in his hand for a long moment and ruefully thought that Connor might not have anything to worry about. When Methos found out about Gina's plans and Connor's arrival, he was going to kill Duncan.


	17. Chapter 17

 

Methos looked up briefly as Duncan entered Joe's office before bending back over the document he and the Watcher were intently studying. Duncan leaned against the doorway, not wanting to disturb the two men as they worked, and a few minutes later, they finished their discussion. Joe carefully wrapped the old manuscript up while Methos stripped off the gloves he was wearing and reached for his coat.

"I appreciate the help, buddy," Joe said. "I'll see about getting a copy of that section."

Methos nodded his thanks and crossed to where Duncan was standing. "If you don't mind, I'd like to run by my place and change before we go to Julian's. We can grab some lunch there."

Duncan nodded and, as they walked out to the car, said, "So was it Darius'?"

"Hmm?" Methos asked, his thoughts elsewhere. "Oh, the chronicle? No, it was mine but there was a reference to Darius in it."

"Yours? Another one you'd lost?"

"Not one I wrote; a Watcher chronicle on me," Methos said absently. "From about twelve hundred years ago."

Noting his lover's abstraction as they got in the car, Duncan said, "Interesting reading?"

"Mmm," Methos assented, a little smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "Brought back some good memories, even though Darius tricked me into making a little voyage with him and some friends." He shuddered. "The things that man could talk me into doing...and I can't believe I didn't notice a Watcher with us. I must have been more sea-sick than I thought."

Duncan smiled. "You knew Darius?"

"Not in his early years. But later, yes. We traveled together for awhile."

Duncan was tempted to ask if they'd been lovers, then decided he didn't want to know. "I envy you. I wish I'd known him longer."

Methos gave him a sideways look. "I visited him when I was in Paris and he spoke about you. Said you were one of the best of our kind, the one he thought would take the Prize."

"I'm surprised we never ran into each other." Even as he said it, Duncan knew that Methos had been wary of anyone with a reputation for fighting, and would have disappeared when Duncan came within sensing distance. Which made it even more incredible that he hadn't simply left town when Joe had asked 'Adam' to meet Duncan, but had taken the risk to meet him. It made him feel warm inside.

Methos didn't answer Duncan's implied question but the quirking of his lips let Duncan know that the older man had read most of his thoughts. He appeared to shake himself out of the spell the old chronicle had cast over him and led the way up to his flat. Tossing his keys on the table, he headed towards the dresser, pulling the sweatshirt over his head as he did so.

"You want to see what we can fix for lunch?" Methos asked, pulling a sweater and jeans out and tossing them on the bed.

Duncan reluctantly turned his eyes away from the show taking place in the sleeping area. He pulled out the fixings for a seafood salad and put a pot of water on the stove for the pasta. Methos joined him a few minutes later and started slicing up vegetables.

They worked together in companionable silence for a few minutes before Duncan decided he'd better break the bad news. "Gina and Robert came by the barge after you left."

Methos rolled his eyes. "If they're fighting again, I _refuse_ to get in the middle of it, no matter how much you plead and bat your eyelashes."

Momentarily diverted, Duncan said, "I thought you did it to get the barge."

Methos smirked. "I had to see what you'd do. Your reaction was priceless, _daaahling_."

"You're a bastard, you know that?"

"That goes without saying," Methos said equitably. "Very few of us can claim legitimacy."

Forced back on track, Duncan cleared his throat. "That brings up why Gina dropped by. It seems Amanda told her about our engagement and they want us to get married at their place." He could feel Methos' eyes on his face and resolutely concentrated on the cooking pasta.

"Why do I get the feeling there's more to this story?"

Duncan gave Methos a sideways look, wondering just how much damage the other man could do with a paring knife. "Gina suggested we let her take care of the arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

He thought he saw Methos' eyes flash but his voice sounded calm so Duncan plunged ahead. "You know: flowers, music, food. I managed to talk her out of a priest.   I think."

"Fine."

Duncan nearly got whiplash as he jerked his head around to stare at Methos.  "What?"

"I said fine." Methos scraped the vegetables into a waiting bowl, then flipped the cutting board over before dumping the already cooked shrimp onto it.

"You understood what I said, didn't you?" Duncan asked.

"What's not to understand? Gina and Robert want to host our wedding."

"And you said fine."

"Yes."

Duncan gave his lover a suspicious look. "What's going on in that devious mind of yours?"

Methos gave Duncan an innocent look as he prepared the shrimp. "Now why do you always assume I'm up to something?"

"Because you usually are - and don't you try that 'I'm just a poor, innocent, harmless grad student' routine with me!"

Methos smirked. "Why should I give up something that works?"

"Because I see right through you."

"That'll be the day," Methos retorted. "Ow!"

Alarmed, Duncan looked over to see that Methos had sliced his finger open before dropping the knife onto the counter. He was staring at his finger, watching blood drip onto the counter as if he had never seen it happen before. Duncan pulled Methos over to the sink, turned on the water, and stuck the bleeding finger under it. Then he grabbed a towel and, pulling Methos' hand back out, pressed it firmly against the cut.

"Ow!" Methos protested. "That hurts!"

"Quit being a baby," Duncan retorted. "You've gotten cuts before."

"Not ones that didn't heal right away," he snapped and Duncan saw he was shaken.

Duncan lifted one edge of the towel and peered at the cut. "The bleeding has stopped. We really should put something on it - antiseptic, band-aid - have you got any in your bathroom?"

Methos gave Duncan a withering look. "Now why would I have antiseptic and plasters in my bathroom? I'm _Immortal_! I'm not _supposed_ to have cuts and bruises that don't heal!"

Duncan sensed hysteria rising, not that he was surprised. He would be upset if this happened to him and he hadn't lived a tenth as long as Methos had. "It's all right," he said, wrapping his arms around Methos, only to have two hands shove hard against his chest, pushing him away.

Methos glared at him. "I don't need to be coddled, MacLeod. I'm perfectly fine and I've- "

"Been taking care of yourself for centuries before I came along," Duncan finished. "Yes, I know. But what if _I'm_ the one that needs to be reassured? I'm not used to the idea of you being vulnerable to a kitchen knife, for Christ's sake!"

"Oh," Methos said. "I don't suppose you are." He appeared mollified by that and allowed Duncan to draw him back into his arms, resting his head on Duncan's shoulder. "You did that quite well, you know."

Duncan smiled. "Tessa used to cut herself when cooking. I thought Richie was going to faint the first time he heard her cussing a blue streak about it. And she was even worse than you about me coddling her."

Methos snorted. "You really know how to pick them, MacLeod."

Duncan's smile widened and he pressed a kiss against the soft, spiky hair under his chin. "Yeah," he said fondly. "I do, don't I?"

He felt a shudder go through the man in his arms and reached over to turn off the cooking noodles. "Come here," he said, leading Methos to the bed. They stretched out, arms wrapped around each other, silent for a long while.

"It's not like you to get distracted so easily," Duncan said finally. "Are you upset about Gina and the wedding?"

"Why should I be upset?" The sarcasm in Methos' voice made Duncan wince. "My life has only gone from being _my personal business_ to headline news. What was Amanda thinking?"

"She was just trying to be helpful."

"Any more helpful and she might as well advertise in Immortal Hunters Daily!" Methos retorted. "I prefer to keep a low profile, and being intimately linked with you is _not_ the way to do it!"

Duncan's arms tightened involuntarily. "You're not leaving me, are you?"

Methos sighed. "No. Of course not."

Duncan relaxed and brushed a kiss against Methos' hair. "You know, if you hate the idea of a public wedding, we can elope."

Methos shifted slightly in Duncan's arms and he was quiet for a long moment. "It would break Joe's heart," he said finally. "He takes credit for getting us together."

"You're more important to me than Joe's feelings," Duncan said firmly. "You say the word and we'll go anywhere you want."

Methos sighed. "Mac, if there's something I've learned over five thousand years it's that we don't have that luxury with mortals. We could disappear and eventually Amanda and Richie and all your other Immortal friends will forgive us, whether it's ten years from now or a hundred. Joe hasn't got that kind of time. And we've been friends for ten years. I just can't do that to him."

Duncan was silent for a few minutes, thinking how amazing it was that the oldest of their kind was also the closest to mortals in many ways. Just one of the many things that made him care so much for Methos. "So what do we do?"

"Not _we_ ," Methos said, sitting up. "You."

"Me?" Duncan said indignantly.

"Your friends, your mess.  You clean it up." Methos went into the kitchen, drained the noodles and started combining ingredients.

"But - Methos!"

"MacLeod!" Methos returned, mockingly.

"What do you expect me to do?" Duncan said, exasperated.

Methos gave the other man a pointed look. "Talk to Gina and tell her that we don't want that kind of wedding."

"That's not as easy as it sounds," Duncan said, a slightly sulky tone in his voice.

"It would be for anyone who wasn't a total pushover for a pretty woman with a quivering lip," Methos teased. He dished up the pasta and set the plates on the table.

"You don't understand. Gina is a very determined woman. When she gets an idea, it's impossible to shake her. For their two hundredth anniversary, she had two dozen swans brought in just to decorate the pond!"

Methos looked thoughtful. "I once had a recipe for swan's tongue. I wonder what I did with it." He wandered over to one of the bookshelves.

"I don't want to eat swans' tongues!" Duncan said, aghast.

"For a man who eats sheep's stomachs, you're mighty particular. And swan's tongue was considered a great delicacy."

Duncan shuddered, foreseeing a horrible time ahead when Methos started having cravings for bizarre dishes. "I don't want to talk about damned swan's tongues."

"You're the one who brought it up," Methos pointed out.

"I was trying to make a point!"

"And so was I."

"Oh." Duncan had a momentary vision of Methos stalking a fleeing swan in the middle of the wedding and shuddered. "I'll talk to Gina."

"Good." Methos sat down, giving Duncan a look of irritatingly smug satisfaction.

"Fine," Duncan snapped, stomping into the kitchen. He snatched up the prescription bottles and thumped them down on the table in front of Methos. "You forgot to take these." He stomped back into the kitchen for their drinks.

Methos gave his fuming lover an amused look, one that changed to pain as he tried to twist off the lid of the pill bottle. "Bloody hell," he muttered as the unhealed cut throbbed.

In a flash, Duncan was back at his side. "Here, let me do that."  He opened the bottles and shook out the capsules.

"Thanks." Methos swallowed the pills and watched as Duncan took the bottles back into the kitchen. The sulky look was gone from Duncan's face and in its place was a wistful look. Methos closed his eyes, his inner voice swearing at him and telling him he was going to regret this.

"Duncan," he said, and Duncan looked around at him. "Do you _want_ a big wedding?"

"No."

Methos sighed. "The truth, not what you think I want to hear."

"Well..." Duncan looked down at the counter, running his finger along the edge. "I _would_ like to have my friends there. I've never been married. And I'm _proud_ to be marrying you, not ashamed. I don't want to hide it."

Methos got up and walked over to Duncan, taking Duncan's hand in his. "All right," he said quietly. "Whatever you want."

Duncan looked up at Methos, dawning joy warring with doubt. "Are you sure?"

Methos nodded. "Three stipulations. One: I'm wearing a simple black tux and that's it. You can choose to wear whatever you want, hell, a bridal gown if it makes you happy, but I'm not color-coordinating with the decorations."

Duncan snorted at that. "All right."

"Two: I want Joe for my Best Man."

Duncan nodded. "Done."

"Three: a simple ceremony. I don't mind saying personal vows but I'm not going to bare my heart and soul in public." He cupped Duncan's cheek with his hand and smiled at him. "That's for me and  you in private."

Duncan slid his arms around Methos' waist. "All right." He kissed Methos, a passionate, toe-curling kiss that left both of them breathing hard. "You think your doctor would mind if we were a little late for the appointment?"

Methos was already tugging Duncan towards the bed. "I'll reschedule." He fell back on the mattress and pulled Duncan down with him.

 

* * *

 

They were only fifteen minutes late, by virtue of a shared shower and the fact that lunch could be eaten cold. Even so, Julian gave them a sardonic look as he came out to get them.

"Glad you could fit this into your busy schedule," he said sarcastically. "MacLeod, I'm glad you decided to come with Adam after all."

"So am I," Duncan said, not letting the other man's mood affect his own good temper.

As they settled in the doctor's office, he felt Julian's eyes sharpen as he got a second look at them.  He smiled.  "I see that things are going better between you.  Not that they could have gotten much worse."

Methos made a face at him. "Watch it, or you won't get an invitation to the wedding."

Julian chuckled and then, when neither of the other men laughed, his eyes widened. "You're serious. Do you two know what you're getting into? Marriage between Immortals has unique problems."

"We're aware of that, Juls," Methos said. "The only question I have is whether you'll attend."

Julian beamed at him. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away. Where will you be holding the ceremony?"

"Here in Paris," Duncan said. "We haven't worked out all the details yet." His cell phone rang. "Excuse me," he said to the other two men as he pulled the phone out. "Duncan MacLeod."

"Duncan, I have my flight information. Have you got a piece of paper?"

Duncan pulled out a pad and pen, jotted down the flight information, then disconnected and stared at the paper. "Um, that was Connor," he said, giving Methos a brief glance.

Methos crossed his arms. "Oh?"

"He's flying into Paris tomorrow morning on Air France. 9:30 am." Duncan drew a deep breath. "He wants to meet the man I'm going to marry." And then he closed his eyes and waited for the shit to hit the fan.

* * *

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

There was silence in the office for a long moment as Methos studied his lover with narrowed eyes. "You called your cousin to tell him about us? Without talking to me?"

"You were with Joe," Duncan said lamely.

"You called him this morning?" Methos asked, incredulously. "And you didn't think to mention it to me during the past three hours? No, you were too busy going on and on about _Gina_ and the _wedding_ and _completely_ failed to tell me that you'd told your cousin, your _teacher_ , about us.  And that he's _coming to Paris tomorrow!_ "

"He just wants to make sure I know what I'm doing."

 "Why would he think you don't?"

"He doesn't completely trust older Immortals..." Duncan bit off the rest of the sentence, closing his eyes again.

"You _told_ him how old I am?"

 "No, of course not. All he knows is that you're older than me."

"So I'm cast in the role of Vile Seducer, am I?" Methos snapped. "What did you tell him: that I took advantage of your innocence and had my Wicked Way with you? I'm surprised I was decent enough to offer to marry you!" His eyes narrowed. "Did you tell him about the baby, tool?"

"No, of course not," Duncan said hastily. "Not on the phone.  I'm not stupid.  But I want to tell him when he gets here." Methos snorted and Duncan's temper flared. "Damn it, Methos, he's my family! It's important to _me_ that he be here, that he knows what's going on in my life."

"He has a point," Julian said.

Methos glared at his former student. "I don't recall asking you for your opinion."

Julian stood up, facing down the older Immortal. "I gave it for free. Just like I'll tell you the truth: you're being an ass."

Methos gaped. "You're taking _his_ side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side," Julian said calmly, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms as he studied Methos. "I'm just trying to take an objective look at the facts."

"Facts?" Methos snapped. "You want facts? Fine!" He counted off on his fingers. "Fact: Connor MacLeod is one of the best in the Game, has gone up against some of the toughest Immortals and defeated them. Fact: Connor is nearly as honor-bound and scrupulous as his idiot cousin. Fact: Connor knows his student is about to marry an older Immortal, one he's never heard about. Fact: that Immortal, me, is a male and Duncan has always preferred women, so Connor is undoubtedly assuming that I seduced his fair-haired lad. Fact: Connor is on the next plane for Paris. Conclusion: Connor MacLeod is coming to separate my head from my shoulders."

"Connor wouldn't do that," Duncan protested. "I told him I love you.."

Methos looked at him sardonically. "I have one word to say: Kristen."

Duncan sat back in his chair, frowning. He remembered all too well how he'd reacted when he'd found out that Richie, his own student, was involved with the dangerous Immortal woman. He'd confronted Richie, confronted them both, and had finally Challenged Kristen.

"You're not Kristen," Duncan said.

"No, I'm worse, remember?" Methos said grimly. "I'm Death."

"Not anymore," Duncan protested.

"And you have no intention of telling him who I really am? Give me a break! You couldn't resist telling Joe or Amanda."

"I didn't tell Richie," he said pointedly.

"No, you made _me_ tell him!" Methos paced the floor again. "Bloody hell! How do I get into these messes? I had a nice, quiet life before you came along. I should have run in the opposite direction when Joe called..."

Julian saw the hurt look on Duncan's face and said, sharply, "That's enough, Methos!" Methos halted both his pacing and diatribe, staring at Julian in surprise. "This isn't like you, old man. You're losing it."

Duncan nodded, relieved that someone else had noticed. "He's been having rapid mood changes lately. Do you think the pregnancy - the hormones or the medication or something - could be making him do that?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm in the damned room with you, you know," he snapped.

"It's more than likely the hormones," Julian said. "It'll settle down after the first trimester and he'll be back to his usual self."

"If you two don't stop talking about me, I'm going to take your heads!"

"So what do I do in the meantime?" Duncan asked Julian.

Methos crossed to stand in front of Duncan, glaring at him. "You stop talking about me and do something about your damn cousin! Or I'm going to borrow one of Julian's scalpels and do a little rearranging of your parts!"

Julian opened a drawer and grabbed something, then walked up behind Methos. "This ought to help." He smacked the auto-injecting hypo against Methos' hip.

"Ow!" Methos turned. "What was that?"

Julian held up the empty syringe. "Just relax, old man. You'll feel better in a minute."

"The hell I will!"

"Is it safe?" Duncan asked, worried.

"Perfectly," Julian replied. "It won't hurt him or the baby. It's just something to help him relax. I use it for patients having trouble with extreme nausea, or to help them relax during delivery without anesthetizing them. It'll make him sleepy and maybe a little - " Methos suddenly staggered and Duncan caught him around the waist. " - dizzy. Hmm. That took effect rather quickly. Not getting enough sleep, old man?"

Methos' eyes rolled up in his head and Duncan swung the suddenly limp body up into his arms. He laid his lover on the couch and crouched down beside him, looking up at Julian in concern. "You're sure he's okay?"

Julian picked up Methos' wrist, checking his pulse. "He's fine, MacLeod. You can trust me. I've been practicing medicine for longer than you've been alive."

"Maybe, but Methos is - "

"A five thousand year old pain in the arse?"

"Special."

Julian couldn't help smiling as he looked down. Methos wasn't out cold but he clearly wasn't feeling any pain at the moment. With his rumpled hair, his eyes half shut, and a silly smile on his face as he hummed to himself, he looked incredibly young. "He is at that."

He looked at Duncan in concern. "Don't take what he said earlier to heart, MacLeod. Methos has a tendency to lash out indiscriminately when he's cornered. And he's under a lot of strain right now. I don't suppose he's been eating and sleeping well, has he?"

In a sing-song voice, Methos said, "I can heeeeear youuuuuu."

Duncan chuckled and took one of Methos' limp hands in his. "I can't say for certain till two days ago, but he seems to be eating fine now. His appetite's better and he's keeping everything down, but he isn't sleeping. For one thing, he's up every couple hours to go to the bathroom."

Julian nodded. "A common complaint during the first trimester. Once the hormones level out that will ease up, at least until the last trimester when the baby starts putting pressure on his bladder."

Methos stopped humming and sighed loudly to let them know he was still a part of the conversation even if he wasn't up to his usual repartee. "The things I have to look forward to. And don't you dare laugh, MacLeod. This is all your fault."

There was a languid contentment behind that familiar complaint and Duncan couldn't help grinning. He kissed the back of his lover's hand. "Guilty as charged."

Julian chuckled. "You're in trouble, MacLeod. He's got you wound tight around his finger."

"He does at that," Duncan agreed. "And speaking of fingers, he cut himself earlier today, in the kitchen. Could you take a look at it? We cleaned it as best we could but didn't have any supplies to do more than that."

Julian picked up the other hand, checking the injury. "It looks good. And it's healing, should be gone by tomorrow. For the future, you might consider stocking a small first-aid kit."

Duncan gave Julian an anxious look. "I've never had to worry about this with Immortal lovers. It scares the hell out of me."

"He'll be fine," Julian said reassuringly. "You don't need to treat him like spun glass ."

"Tollllllld youuuuuu," came a smug sing-song from Methos.

"Just keep him away from Challenges and he'll be fine. After delivery he'll return to normal."

"Speaking of which," Duncan said, "what about delivery? I mean, based on a very thorough examination, I can verify that Methos is not equipped to deliver a baby. Ouch!" he said as Methos smacked him without opening his eyes.

"C-section," Julian said. "Unless something else changes."

"Something else? You mean you don't know?" Duncan said, aghast.

Julian sighed, leaning back against his desk and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "MacLeod, even I don't know everything about this process. The fact that Immortals can have children is amazing. The fact that a _male_ Immortal can become pregnant and carry to term is a miracle. In the two cases of male pregnancy I've witnessed I did C-sections, but I've heard of at least one man delivering the child himself."

Methos opened one eye to glare balefully at the two other Immortals. "If you think I'm going to _push_ this child out..."

Not wanting to get Methos stirred up again, Duncan said hastily, "What other changes can we expect?"

"Over the next few months, the dormant milk glands will start developing. By the time the baby arrives, he should be able to breast feed."

"Oh, joy," Methos murmured. "Milk on tap, just what I needed to complete my day." Disgruntled, Methos turned over on his side, his back pointedly turned on them, looking as if he was settling down for a nap.

Duncan sighed. "I don't think Paris is ready for the sight of a pregnant man. Some of my friends have suggested taking Methos to holy ground but, frankly, I don't want to be too far away from your expertise."

They heard Methos snort at the idea of anyone taking him _anywhere_ but Julian nodded. "Holy ground would be a good idea, although I don't think you have to head there until the last four months. With Methos' slender build, you can probably expect him to start showing between four and five months although the bulky sweaters he wears will help disguise that. But I don't think you should push your luck beyond six months, so if you don't have a place set up you'd better start soon.  And I'd advise waiting on round the world  honeymoon trips until _after_ the baby is born."

Duncan suddenly felt like someone had snuck up behind him and hit him over the head. _Honeymoon_? He'd thought about a honeymoon with Tessa, but with _Methos_? It suddenly made everything real, not some hazy dream about family and someone to share his life with.  In that moment, he was so terrified that he thought he might be ill and yet wanted it more than anything in the world. Glancing at Methos, Duncan was not surprised to find that the older Immortal had turned slightly on the couch and those gold-green eyes were open and focused on his face, reading him as easily as a book. Then Methos closed his eyes, shuttering himself away, making Duncan wonder what was going on in his mind.

"Well, if you two are finished planning my life, can I go home?" Methos said plaintively.

Julian grinned. "Just let me get your weight and you can head out. I think that, under the circumstances, I won't make you pee in a cup for a glucose reading. Gestational diabetes is the least of your worries."

"Your generosity overwhelms me," Methos muttered. He allowed Duncan to pull him to his feet and guide him over to the scale and managed to stand upright while Justin recorded his weight. After giving Duncan some pamphlets on nutrition, Julian sent them on their way.

Methos was unsteady on his feet but by wrapping an arm around his waist, Duncan was able to steer him down to the car. The old Immortal was silent on the trip back to his apartment, leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Duncan hoped that his silence was just because he was tired and medicated, and not an indication of the calm before the worst of the storm, but he wasn't overly optimistic.

He parked the car and helped Methos up to his apartment where the older Immortal sprawled across the bed. Duncan had to resist an urge to follow him down and make love to him, but he was clearly out on his feet and needed rest. Instead, he resolutely turned towards the kitchen and began foraging for something for dinner.

"My turn to cook," Methos mumbled.

Duncan snorted and kept looking through the cabinets. "Right. You'd probably slice off your damn thumb or set fire to the place."

"Not my fault," Methos complained. "You let Julian give me a shot in the arse!"

"You were hysterical."

"I was angry. There's a difference."

Duncan looked at him. "You still angry?"

"Yes. I'm just too doped up to come over there and punch you in the nose." There was a hint of a sulk in his voice and Duncan sighed.  He crossed the room to sit beside his lover.

"Take your best shot, but I wasn't trying to go behind your back. I would have told you."

Methos rolled onto his back and glared up at Duncan. "When?" he demanded. "As we were driving to the airport? When we were at the gate?" Duncan couldn't help the guilty flush. He had thought of doing that, knowing Methos wouldn't throw a fit in public. Methos' lip twisted and he turned on his side. "Thanks, MacLeod," he said bitterly. "I appreciate your trust."

Aghast, Duncan reached out and grasped Methos' shoulder, pulling his lover back so he could look him in the face. "It has nothing to do with trust! God, Methos, I trust you with my life, with my heart! It was just...I knew you'd be upset and I wanted to put it off as long as possible."

Methos gave him a disbelieving look. "Duncan MacLeod avoiding confrontation? That I don't believe."

"It's true," Duncan insisted, taking one of Methos' hands in his and drawing it up to his lips. "I didn't want to argue with you over this. Or anything else, for that matter."

A rueful smile touched Methos' lips. "Mac, we've been arguing over one thing or another since we met. It's practically foreplay. And we'll probably be arguing until the day we die. It's our nature. If you're going to get squeamish now..."

"I don't want to upset you."

Methos rolled his eyes and placed Duncan's hand over his abdomen. "Because of this? Mac, a little argument isn't going to hurt me or the baby. I  give you my word. My fourteenth wife was an absolute virago when she was pregnant: smashed crockery, screamed at the servants, tore up clothing.  And she delivered healthy babies every time."

Duncan couldn't help running his fingers over the flat abdomen, awed to think that inside new life was growing. "But you're different."

Methos gave an exasperated sigh. "Mac, I'm just a guy."

A smile twitched the corner of Duncan's mouth. "A pregnant guy."

Methos' eyes crinkled with amusement. "A pregnant guy who's going to dump you on your arse the next time you try to shield me."

Duncan snorted. "You and what army?"

"I don't need any help to take you, MacLeod," Methos retorted.

He grabbed Duncan and rolled, pinning the younger Immortal, grinning down at him. "Age and cunning..."

"Blah blah blah," Duncan said, then kissed him. "So am I forgiven or do we need to fight some more?" Abruptly, Methos' face shadowed and he rolled away. Alarmed, Duncan sat up and looked down at his lover. "Methos?"

"I've got one solution for the problem," Methos said quietly. "You can tell Connor you're not marrying me."

"You want me to _lie_ to - "  Duncan's breath caught in his throat. "You want to call it off? You've changed your mind?"

"I think _you_ have," Methos said quietly. Duncan started to protest but Methos held up his hand. "I saw your face when Julian was talking about honeymoons. You were scared."

"I was stunned," Duncan admitted. "It was suddenly real, for the first time."

Methos nodded, his eyes averted and lips compressed into a tight line. "I won't hold you to anything you said."

"Hush," Duncan said, laying his fingers over Methos' lips, silencing him. "Just because the idea stunned me doesn't mean it's a _bad_ one. Yes, I was terrified but exhilarated at the same time. Marriage is scary, Methos. Marriage between Immortals even more so. But it doesn't mean I don't want it, or that I don't want you."

Methos nipped at Duncan's fingers and the younger Immortal pulled them back with a laugh, noting with satisfaction the relieved look in Methos' eyes. "In that case, we have a problem. Or rather, _you_ have a problem."

Duncan sighed. "Connor. I know: my mess, I clean it up." He cocked an eyebrow at his lover. "When do _you_ get to do damage control?"

A corner of Methos' mouth turned up and he said loftily, "When I make a mess. Although I wouldn't hold your breath. The last time I made a mess was in 1683 when - Mac!" he yelped as the other man's fingers unerringly found his ticklish areas and dug in. "Not fair!"

Duncan grinned but didn't stop. "Yeah? Well I learned from the best that fair doesn't always count."

With that, Duncan set about driving his lover crazy, first with tickling touches until Methos was begging for mercy between gasping laughs, and then with bolder strokes until Methos was begging for release. And as he sent Methos over the edge, he dismissed the problem about what to do about Connor till later.

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

Duncan wasn't sure if it was the sound of the toilet flushing or the grumbling as Methos got back in bed that woke him the next morning. He opened his eyes and glanced at his watch on the nightstand; if he got up now, he'd have plenty of time for a run and a shower before he had to go pick up Connor from the airport. He smiled and rolled over to nuzzle Methos' neck.

"G'way," his lover muttered crossly and Duncan chuckled.

"I take it that means you don't want to go for a run with me." Methos' head turned enough so he could see the baleful glare and he backed off. "Okay, your loss."

Duncan slid out of bed, laughing again as he heard muttering and the words "damn morning people". He pulled on the pair of sweats he'd loaned to Methos the previous day and headed out into the crisp morning air, breathing deeply for a moment as he stood on the street and decided which way to go. He loved this time of morning when the streets were nearly empty and, although he liked having a running buddy, it was also nice to be able to set his own pace. He set a mental path and headed off, and for forty-five minutes concentrated on nothing but his running, while he remained vigilant for any sign of another Immortal.

When he got back to the apartment, Methos was still in bed with the covers pulled up so high that only a shock of dark hair was visible. Duncan grinned at that and briefly debated rousting him out of bed for a shared shower but decided that he didn't feel like reviving from death today. He showered quickly, shaved, then pulled on clothes from the bag he'd brought with him before sitting down on the side of the bed.

"Methos," he said softly. The lump in bed twitched. "I'm heading to the airport. Do you want me to start a pot of decaf before I go?"

Methos pulled the covers down just enough to give Duncan a baleful glare. "What's the point of coffee without caffeine?"

"A 'no' would be sufficient." Duncan leaned down to kiss the tip of Methos' nose. "I'll be taking Connor right to his hotel. Would you like to meet us there for lunch?"

The glare intensified, but whether it was from the kiss or the mention of Connor he couldn't say. "I don't think so."

"Dinner then?" Methos disappeared back under the covers and Duncan sighed. "Will I see you at all today?" The lump twitched and muttered something that could have been "Joe's. Tonight." Duncan ran his hand caressingly over the hidden form, saying, "All right. You be sure to eat some breakfast, okay? I'll put a glass of juice and crackers here on the night table before I leave. Oh, and here's a key to the barge. I had it made for you yesterday."

There wasn't a reply and Duncan resigned himself to the fact that Methos was still angry with him over his cousin's arrival. He set out the juice and crackers, along with Methos' medication, picked up his wallet and coat, and headed for the airport.

After he heard the door close behind Duncan, Methos pulled back the covers and reached over to the night table to pick up the key Duncan had left, cradling it in his hand. Although he had felt welcome at the barge at any time - and had dropped in at odd times of the day and night to test that welcome - knowing that he now had license to come and go at will made him feel tingly inside in a way he hadn't felt in centuries. He grinned as he turned the key over in his hand and supposed that he'd have to forgive Duncan for his indiscretion regarding Connor MacLeod. Eventually. With a wicked chuckle, he propped himself up against the headboard so he could drink his juice while he formulated a plan.

 

* * *

 

The flight from New York was on time so Duncan didn't have long to wait before he saw his cousin making his way through the hoard of passengers disembarking. He couldn't help smiling as he caught sight of his teacher's familiar features.  Damn, but it had been too long since they'd last seen each other, and that under sadder circumstances. He vowed to keep in closer contact with Connor and moved forward so that his cousin would be able to see him.

A smile crossed Connor's face and he moved forward to enfold Duncan in a hearty embrace. "It's good to see you, Duncan!"

"You, too, Connor," he said, his throat thick with emotion as he returned the hug.

Connor pulled back a little so that he could study his student's face and a slight smile touched his lips. "You're looking good. But then, you always did look at your best when you were head over heels in love."

Duncan flushed slightly at the reminder of past romances and let Connor go, bending to pick up the overnight bag Connor had set down. "This isn't just a romantic fling, Connor. It's the real thing.  I love Adam with all my heart."

Connor gave him a sideways look as they walked down the concourse. "More than Tessa?"

"No," Duncan said, his face slightly shadowed and he stopped in the middle of the concourse, not caring about the people moving around them. "But just as much as Tessa. You're not going to talk me out of this, Connor, so if that's why you came, you might as well just get back on the plane and go home."

Connor eyed him in amusement. Duncan might not be the half-wild young Immortal he had first befriended but he had lost none of his passion - or his stubbornness. "Well, since I've just arrived, why don't I remain a little longer?" he said mildly. "Unless you don't want me here?"

"Of course I want you here!" Duncan said quickly, horrified that he might have offended the other man, then glared when he saw the amused twinkle in Connor's eyes. "You're a bastard, Connor - and I should probably think twice about letting you meet Adam."

Connor continued walking towards baggage claim. "You don't think we'll get along?"

"Just the opposite. Between you two my life's going to be hell."

Connor chuckled but didn't say anything else until they were in Duncan's car heading back into the city. "So tell me more about this man who's captured your fancy. Good looking?"

Duncan thought of Methos as he had last seen him: covers dragged up to his chin, hair standing on end, only his glaring eyes and nose sticking out of the covers.  He smiled. "I think so."

"What does he do? And how did you meet or should I try to guess?"

Duncan gave him an amused look. "You'd never guess. And he's a graduate student. Or was.  We met here in Paris two years ago."

"Friend of Richie's?"

"Friend of Joe's, actually."

Connor snorted, his lips tightening slightly. "That Watcher," he said sourly. He hadn't liked what Duncan had told him about the Watchers, even if Duncan personally vouched for Joe Dawson. The idea of a group of people watching him and others of his kind made him feel sick, and he couldn't help feeling that their motives weren't as altruistic as Duncan claimed. "Why would an Immortal have a friend like that?"

"Hey! Joe's _my_ friend, too!" Duncan protested, although he could understand Connor's feelings. He still felt bitter about the way the Watchers had tried to execute Joe and had killed Jacob Galati. He felt Connor's eyes on him, waiting for the answer to his question, and sighed. "Adam was with the Watchers."

"An _Immortal_?" Connor asked, disbelieving. "Using them to Hunt us?"

Duncan shook his head. "Adam's not a Hunter, Connor. He only fights to protect himself. In the entire time I've known him, he's only taken two heads, and both of those reluctantly."

"And if you believe that, lad..."

"He was a researcher," Duncan persisted. "Working on the Methos Chronicles."

Connor snorted. "Then the man's a fool. A waste of time, that. If Methos ever existed, he died long, long ago."

Duncan smiled. "You think so?"

"I know so," Connor said positively. "Ramirez told me he saw Methos go his last Challenge. There are very few Old Ones left."

Connor's voice was sad and Duncan had to bite his lip to keep from telling his cousin that there was a _very_ old one still alive. Fortunately, they had reached the hotel so Connor had to give up his questioning about Duncan's intended.  Relieved sigh he followed Connor into the hotel.

Connor had booked a room so a few minutes later he returned to Duncan, key in hand.  "When do I meet this man you're marrying?"

Duncan hesitated. "I'm not sure, Connor.  Adam can be...difficult some times."

Connor frowned. "But surely - "

"Mr. MacLeod?" Both Connor and Duncan turned, and Duncan's mouth dropped open as he stared at someone he hadn't seen in a long time. The man in front of them held out his hand, a shy but engaging smile on his young face.

"Adam Pierson. And may I say, sir, that it's an honor to meet you."

Looking like he'd been struck dumb, Connor shook hands with the young man in the ill-fitting navy suit standing in front of them. Duncan didn't know what Connor had been expecting - someone old and wise like Darius, or a seasoned fighter like Cullen, or an Adonis like Cory Raines - but he doubted that Adam Pierson was it.

The young man standing before them couldn't have been more than twenty at First Death and had a shy, diffident air about him that spoke of a life as a scholar. He was obviously a very young Immortal, a green kid with only a few heads under his belt. And as for his looks, he supposed Adam was light-years away from the usual lush beauties Connor had seen him with, and he felt Connor's incredulous look.

Duncan stared at Adam in consternation, aware that Connor's eyes had narrowed as he looked between the two of them.   "I thought you weren't coming," he hissed.

Adam's eyes widened with innocent confusion, and Duncan had the sudden irresistible urge to turn the old Immortal over his knee as he stammered, "I'm sorry, Duncan. I must have misunderstood..."

" _Duncan_?"

The young man blushed as if he'd been too familiar. "Mac," he corrected himself. "Look, I'm making a mess of this. I'll just push off..."

"Nonsense," Connor said briskly. "I was just about to send my bags up to my room and have breakfast, and I'd like it if you joined us."

Adam gave Duncan a look from under his lashes that made Duncan grind his teeth, then agreed and let Connor guide him toward the dining room, leaving Duncan to follow.

Duncan glared at the two Immortals in front of him. Under his usual long coat, Methos was wearing a suit Duncan had never seen before - not that he'd seen the old reprobate in much of anything beyond casual. But this suit was horrendous and Duncan suspected it had been hanging in the Old Man's closet since his first interview for the Watchers. It was just the kind of cheap, ill-fitting suit that a young, impoverished grad student would have and it made Methos look impossibly young and gawky. It also made Duncan feel like a pervert, the kind of Immortal who would seduce his young and vulnerable student -- and it was clear that Connor was thinking just the same thing.

First thing he would do when he got Methos home would be to burn that suit. No, make that the second thing. First he was going to paddle the daylights out of the aggravating man.

As if he'd heard Duncan's thoughts, Methos looked back at him and, unnoticed by Connor, gave him an impish grin that made Duncan grind his teeth again. He swore, then flushed as Connor turned his head and gave him a stern look. And he had a feeling, from the way that Adam's shoulders were shaking, that the other man was suppressing a fit of laughter.

"I hope you're hungry," Connor said as the three men settled at a table.

"Not much," Methos confessed, "but Dun- _Mac_ is always telling me I need to eat more."

Connor nodded. "He's right, lad. You'll never develop the muscles you need to stay alive without proper nutrition and lots of exercise. I hope Duncan has you on a training routine."

"I try," Duncan said with a growl, "but Adam is the laziest brat I've ever known."

Connor gave Duncan a shocked look, then looked at Adam and said seriously, "I know it doesn't seem important right now, but your life could depend on what shape you're in." He hesitated, reluctant to step on Duncan's toes.  "Perhaps you'll do me the honor of sparring with me before I leave."

Adam hesitated for a moment and Duncan was horrified to see that he appeared to consider the offer. "It is I who would be honored," Adam said. "But I don't think Mac would let me."

Duncan felt Connor's expectant look and ground his teeth. "I thought you were here on other business, Connor," he said shortly.

A slight frown creased Connor's forehead. "You've had your little joke, Duncan. And in poor taste, I might add. But now that I'm here, I might as well get to know your student better."

"My student?" Duncan asked, stunned. "Adam's not my student!"

It was Connor's turn to look stunned. "You mean you're letting a new Immortal wander around without a proper teacher? Duncan, I thought better of you."

Stung by the criticism, Duncan said hotly, "He's _not_ a new - "

The arrival of the waitress made Duncan cut off what he was going to say and he had to content himself with glowering at Methos across the table. Methos didn't seem in the least bit fazed by his glare, calmly sipping his hot chocolate and answering Connor's questions about Adam Pierson's life.

And, incredibly enough, Connor appeared to be buying everything Methos said, something Duncan had never known the cautious older Scot to do. It irritated Duncan even more and he sulked silently as he watched Methos wrap Connor around his finger.  He rebuffed every attempt to draw him into the conversation. All he wanted was a chance to talk to Methos alone.

He got his opportunity when Connor excused himself to use the restroom, and immediately Duncan leaned across the table, pinning Methos with a glare. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Duncan hissed.

Methos' eyes widened innocently, but a smile hovered on his lips. "Why, trying to make a good impression. How am I doing?"

"Any more of your 'good impression' and Connor will take my head and then adopt you!" Duncan snapped.

Methos tilted his head, as if thinking that over. "Hmm, I wonder..."

"Don't you dare!" Duncan said, outraged. Unfortunately, Connor returned at just that moment to hear that and, combined with the sudden way that Adam seemed to shrink into his chair, Duncan knew he was toast.

"If you're finished, why don't we continue our discussion upstairs?" Connor said to Adam. "Duncan, I'm sure you have errands to run," he said, fixing his cousin with a pointed look.

Duncan was horrified and gave Methos a panicked look. "But - "

"Adam will be perfectly fine with me. It'll give us a chance to get to know each other."

"But - "

"Duncan."

Duncan recognized that firm tone of voice and his shoulders sagged. "Yes, Connor." He stood up from the table. "I'll be back in an hour -"

"Two."

" - two hours." With a last look at Methos,  combining admonishment and worry, Duncan headed out of the restaurant

Connor signed the check then led the way to his suite. Methos reluctantly followed; his little revenge on Duncan had gone well but he wasn't keen on the idea of spending time alone with the older Scot. Although Methos knew his ability to carry off the "Adam Pierson" role was impeccable - he had spent ten years playing the young man for a very sharp audience of Watchers - he knew Connor MacLeod was no fool and infinitely more cautious than his younger cousin. At the very least, he had an intense grilling to look forward to, and at the worst... He shoved that thought away and meekly followed Connor into his suite.

Connor tossed his coat onto a chair and, reluctantly, Methos laid his coat over the end of the couch. At least he hadn't ventured out with only his sword.  The ill-fitting suit hid a multitude of sins and allowed him to secrete two knives and his gun without a betraying bulge.

"Well, Adam Pierson," Connor said, wandering over to the bar. "What can I get you?"

Methos was tempted to ask for a double-Scotch but knew that Duncan was already going to kill him. "Just tonic water," he said with Adam Pierson's endearing smile. "I'm don't have a good head for drink."

"A Welshman who doesn't drink?" Connor said with mock horror. "What is the world coming to?" He crossed the room to hand Methos his water. "Of course, if you're not _really_ a Welshman - or Adam Pierson - that would explain a lot."

Methos' head jerked up, his eyes automatically widening with Adam Pierson's look of bewilderment. "Pardon?"

Connor's eyes met his, and there was something in them that caught Methos' attention, a knowledge that was more than Connor's five hundred years. "You can drop the act, lad. Duncan's long gone, and as much fun as it was to watch him squirm, I think it's time for the truth."

Methos knew when it was time to switch tactics and that time was now. With a rueful smile, he straightened and shed his boyish gawkiness, his skinniness transmuting into lean, whippet-like strength. The mobile features mutated from youthfully shy to sharp-edged, and innocent young eyes to ones as ancient as the oceans.

Connor drew in a sharp breath. "Who _are_ you?"

The other Immortal hesitated for a long moment, trying to make up his mind. Then, with a sigh, he said one word.

"Methos."

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

Connor stared at the Immortal in front of him. "That's impossible. Methos is a myth.  If he ever existed, he's long dead."

Methos gave Connor an amused look. "The reports of my death, etc., etc." His hand went to his tie. "Do you mind if I make myself comfortable? This bloody thing is making my head hurt."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned away, undid the tie and tossed it into a chair. Then he removed his suit jacket and opened the top buttons of his shirt, rolling his neck to loosen the muscles. "There - that's much better."

And when he turned back, the point of a sword was at his throat.

Methos' eyes widened and he put his hands up in  surrender. "No need for that."

"Who _are_ you?" Connor's eyes were flinty.

"I told you."

"And I don't believe you." Connor didn't move his sword from its threatening position. "Others have claimed to be Methos."

Methos sighed. "I'm sorry I don't have proof of my identity. I seem to have left my birth certificate in my other trousers." The point of the sword pressed against his throat, drawing a bead of blood and his eyes widened. "Hey! Would you mind pointing that thing somewhere else?"

"If you won't answer that question, maybe you'll answer this one.  What were you doing with the Watchers? Using them to Hunt us?"

"No!" Methos said vehemently. "I was trying to _avoid_ other Immortals, not find them!"

Connor stepped forward, forcing Methos to step back to keep the sword from piercing his throat. "You don't appear to be avoiding Immortals now. Or are you making an exception with Duncan?"

"He found _me_ ," Methos protested.

"Or did you _let_ him find you?"

Methos cursed himself for letting down his guard. Both his coat with his sword and his suit jacket with his gun were across the room. He had a knife in a sheath at his back but he had a feeling that a move for it would be disastrous.

"I don't know what you're talking about." If he could just talk some sense into the man, he had a chance of surviving this without having to kill Connor. Somehow, he had a feeling that Duncan wouldn't take kindly to that.

"I think you do. Within the Watchers you had the perfect opportunity to study your prey - to read his history, learn how he thought, how he acted, what kind of person attracted him. And when you were ready, you let him 'find' you - only not the real you but 'Adam Pierson', just the kind of person he would feel driven to protect. And when that wasn't enough because Duncan's not a fool, you waved the final bait under his nose. You knew he was fascinated with Old Immortals - and what could be more intriguing than the oldest of us all? So you _pretended_ to be Methos and caught him: hook, line and sinker."

Methos' eyes narrowed. "And why do you think I perpetrated this - this sordid little performance?"

"Isn't it obvious? To gain Duncan's protection!"

Methos' eyes blazed and he stepped forward, unmindful of the sword threatening him. "Really? Well, let me tell you something, Connor MacLeod! I don't _need_ Duncan's protection! I've taken care of myself for _thousands_ of years! _Long_ before you and your barbaric kin evolved enough brain cells to paint yourselves blue and terrify the local sheep! I was teaching mathematics when your people were still learning how to count their toes! I've been worshipped as a god and I've ruled as a king. I've carried a master's whip and yes, I've worn a slave's collar but I've _survived_! I've taken more heads than you've even seen!"

He turned away from Connor, clenching his hands. " A _nd I gave it all up before you were born_! When I met Duncan, it had been two hundred _years_ since my last Challenge and I was _content_ with my life. I had friends, I had work, I was _safe_! And you think I _wanted_ to throw that all away for the dubious honor of being under Duncan MacLeod's protection? It's probably the _least_ safe place I could be!"

Methos gave a bitter laugh. "And add to that the joy of being knocked up by the man, vulnerable to any lunatic with a sword - "

He heard a sudden sharp intake of breath. "What did you say?" Connor asked, a peculiar tone in his voice that made Methos turn back to him again.

He'd forgotten about the sword.

So had Connor.

He had enough presence of mind to hastily toss the sword aside and catch Methos as he sagged to his knees, eyes wide with surprise as he clutched the gash in his side.

"Easy, lad," Connor murmured, easing the other Immortal to the floor, then tore open the shirt to lay bare the wound. He sighed with relief. "It's a clean wound and not very deep."

"'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door, but 'tis enough'," Methos murmured.

Connor couldn't help a sardonic smile as he stripped off the other man's shirt. "Bit melodramatic, aren't we? You're not going to die - although you were born to play the part of Mercutio. And didn't anyone teach you not to run onto someone else's sword?"

Methos gave Connor a disbelieving look. "You blame _me_ for this? _I'm_ not the one waving a sword and casting aspersions on my character!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Connor said, making a pad of the ruined shirt and pressing it against the wound. "I seem to recall a nasty comment about sheep."

"I like sheep; it's _Scots_ \- ow! That _hurts_!"

"Stop being a baby," Connor retorted.

Methos snorted. "Well, I can see where Duncan gets his nursing skills from, dammit!"

"I've got to stop the bleeding. Duncan will have my head if I let you bleed to death." Despite his calm words, he anxiously studied the other man's face, gauging the pallor from years of experience. "Should I call him?"

"For a little scratch like this?"  Methos' voice was light but he couldn't hide his breathlessness.

"Little if you were healing normally. In your condition..."

Methos' head jerked up, his eyes widened. "How-"

"Nakano," Connor said briefly, and Methos nodded as he recognized the name of the Immortal sorcerer. He took one of Methos' hands and placed it over the pad. "Keep firm pressure there while I fetch some towels."

"I know what to do," Methos said irritably. "I've been a doctor, several times."

"God help us all," Connor muttered, returning with a stack of towels. He folded one into a pad and pressed it over the bloody shirt.

Methos was silent for a long moment, concentrating on not fainting. "You never told Duncan?"

Connor shrugged. "Not much point, was there? Especially knowing how he felt about children. He would have torn out his heart."

"And you were never tempted?"

Connor's eyes shadowed. "There was only one woman I would have wanted to bear my children, and since she was mortal and had died by the time I learned of this..."

He let his voice trail off, then added briskly, "Besides, I have both a daughter and son of my heart, and that's enough for me." He looked down at Methos. "You said you were _content_ before you met Duncan, but I didn't hear you say anything about being _happy_."

Methos smiled wryly. "Bright boy."

"And you're happy? Both of you?"

The door to the room was suddenly flung open and Duncan burst in, his eyes frantically searching for and finding his lover. In an instant, he was kneeling beside Methos, shaking hands hovering over the pad Connor was pressing against his lover's side. "Methos?"

Hazel eyes opened and a half-smile quirked Methos' lips. "Back so soon?"

"I knew you were in danger," Duncan said tersely. He looked across at Connor, his eyes blazing with fury, and reached for his sword.

Methos caught his wrist. "Not his fault, Mac. It was an accident. I was being an ass."

Duncan reluctantly settled back beside Methos, grasping Methos' hand between both of his. "I should have known. That mouth of yours always gets you into trouble."

Methos managed a grin. "In more ways than one. I should have remembered that Scots have no sense of humor." His eyes started to roll up in his head and he clutched Duncan's hand.

"I'm here, Old Man," Duncan said reassuringly, alarmed at the paleness of his lover's face. _Shock_ , he thought. "You're going to be fine."

"The bleeding has nearly stopped," Connor said and glanced at his cousin. "If you want to make yourself useful, make a pad from one of those towels and tear some strips to bind it in place."

Duncan reluctantly released his lover's hand and did as Connor instructed. Connor deftly pulled the bloody pad and shirt free and pressed the new pad down over the sluggishly bleeding wound. Between the two of them, they bound the pad in place.

"That should do it," Connor said with satisfaction, patting Methos' shoulder reassuringly. "You'll be fine, lad."

Duncan ground his teeth together, irritated beyond belief that Methos was still playing the "Adam Pierson" game. "He's _not_ a lad! He's older than both of us put together, dammit! He's - "

"Methos," Connor said calmly. He stripped back the covers of the bed and spread out a towel.

Duncan blinked, then looked down at Methos. The old Immortal was looking at Connor with amusement. "You told him?"

"Yes, but he didn't believe me."

Duncan gave Connor a disbelieving look. "What - you needed to see him bleeding to death on your floor before you believed him?"

"He's not likely to do that now, is he?" Connor asked. "You'd better get those trousers off him before we shift him to the bed."

"With you standing right here?" Duncan asked, affronted.

Connor sighed. "Duncan, I'm not going to ravage your wounded fiancé right in front of you."

Methos couldn't help from grinning mischievously at that. "You hear that, Mac? Turn your back."

"Methos!"

Methos laughed and then winced. "Has he always been such a prude?"

"Not that I recall," Connor said, dryly. "Although there was that one time, when thieves made off with his clothes while he was bathing in a loch. I couldn't get him to come out till dark. Nearly froze his...assets off."

Methos gave a shout of laughter and Duncan rolled his eyes and growled. "Now that's enough; you want to start bleeding again?"

Between the two Scots, they got Methos' shoes and trousers stripped off and settled him in bed, covers pulled up to warm him. Duncan bundled the ruined shirt and trousers plus the bloody towels into a trash bag to be disposed of later while Connor ordered hot tea from room service. By the time the tea arrived, Methos was recovered enough to sit up although he grimaced as the movement pulled at the healing flesh.

As he sipped his tea, Methos watched Connor look through his suitcase for clothes that the older Immortal could wear home. "Why did you believe me?" he asked suddenly, and Connor looked over at him questioningly. "You thought I was an imposter one minute, an Immortal gold-digger, and then suddenly you believed me. Why?"

Connor set aside a pair of sweats that would fit the other Immortal. "Ramirez, my first teacher, told me that I'd meet you someday."

Duncan looked up sharply from where he was sitting on the bed beside Methos. "You told me he said Methos was dead."

Connor nodded and sat down in a chair by the bed. "One afternoon we were resting after sparring.  I asked him about the oldest Immortal he'd ever met. Ramirez got this faraway look in his eyes.  He began talking about an Immortal who was thousands of years old before Ramirez was even born. An Immortal called Methos. I asked if he had ever met this Methos and he smiled. 'I _believe_ I have,' he said, 'although not by that name.' I asked for details, in case I should meet him. 'He looks like any man,' he said to me, 'but his eyes are old as the sand and the sea.'"

Connor paused and glanced over at Methos, noticing that his eyes were hooded as he silently watched Connor. "I asked him what had happened to this Methos and he said 'the same thing that happens to us all - he died.' I was sad at that, saying I would like to have met this ancient one. And then he said something strange: 'Perhaps you will, Highlander. If one day you meet an Immortal who is not what he appears to be, one who carries another life within his own, remember my words and know that he is Methos and is to be protected above all others, for what he carries is a rare gift.' "

Duncan looked at Methos in surprise, shaken by the prophecy uttered hundreds of  years ago. How could Ramirez have known?

Meanwhile, Connor looked up, meeting Methos' eyes. "Was he right? Did you know Ramirez?" Methos silently inclined his head. "At the time of his First Death?"

Methos' face shuttered. "No, I was otherwise occupied then," he said, and Duncan knew he was referring to the Horsemen. "I met him later, in Greece. He was a good man, and a good fighter. I was sorry to hear of his death."

"What I want to know is what gave Methos away?" Duncan asked suddenly. "How did you know that he wasn't 'Adam Pierson'?"

Connor looked at his cousin, amused. "You did. You gave it away."

"Me?" Duncan asked in surprise.

Connor nodded, looking over at Methos with a wry smile. " 'Adam' was good - very, very good. But the looks you kept giving him: first the surprised, almost shocked, reaction when he appeared, and then all the other looks and comments while we ate. I knew something was up. At first I thought you both were up to something together, but it was soon clear that Adam was acting independently, and that you weren't pleased about it. Plus, no Immortal I know gives off _that_ innocent a buzz."

Methos frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Connor looked at Duncan. "Haven't you noticed how unusual his Presence is?"

"Well, yes, the first time I met him I thought it was incredibly strong."

"Strong?" Connor asked, surprised. "It's barely there!"

Duncan exchanged a look with Methos and got up, going into the hallway. Methos could sense when he walked out of range and then back in; it felt like it usually did, except he could identify Duncan's Presence, something he'd noticed since Bordeaux.

But Duncan was looking puzzled and more than a little worried when he came back in the room. "Connor's right. Your buzz is almost non-existent: more than a pre-Immortal's but nowhere near as strong as an Immortal's should be. And I know it was normal a few days ago.  At least, I think it was." The truth was that Duncan had gotten so familiar with Methos' particular buzz that he hardly noticed it any more except as a doorbell substitute. "You're not controlling it, are you?"

"If I could do that, I wouldn't have been hiding in the Watchers," Methos said sarcastically. "You must be mistaken. Maybe the overlap of your Presence and Connor's is masking mine."

"Or maybe," Duncan said slowly, "the baby's is masking yours. But that's impossible, isn't it?"


	21. Chapter 21

There was a knock on the door and Methos looked at Duncan questioningly. "That'll be Julian," Duncan said.

Methos scowled. "You called Julian? Are you _insane_?"

"Well, excuse me, but you were bleeding all over the damn floor!" Duncan retorted. "I thought it might be a good idea to have a _doctor_ check you out!"

"Fine!" Methos snapped back. "But no way am I taking the blame for _this_ one! And if he comes within a foot of me with a needle, I'm taking his head!"

"Fair enough," Duncan said, going to the door and opening it. "Thanks for coming, Dr. Fremont."

"Don't thank me yet," Julian said, his eyes twinkling at Duncan. "You haven't seen what I charge for house calls."

Duncan couldn't help smiling at that, even through his anxiety, and Julian paused to grip his shoulder reassuringly. "He'll be fine, MacLeod," he said softly. "The old man is tougher than he appears." Duncan silently nodded his thanks and Julian released him, heading towards the bed.

"Well, Adam, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Julian asked genially. He set his bag down on the bed and smiled down at Methos. "Now are you going to be a good patient or do I have to sedate you again?" he asked as he pulled down the covers to reveal the makeshift bandage.

Connor moved over to stand by Duncan. "Sedation? Surely that isn't a good idea, given Adam's condition. Do you trust this Immortal?"

Duncan nodded. "Julian Fremont is an expert on this condition, and he was Methos' student. He won't hurt him..."

"Ow! What in hell are you trying to do? Take some skin as well?" Methos protested.

"..much," Duncan added.

"I've got to remove this pad and part of it has stuck to the wound." Julian deftly peeled off the towel and studied the gash. "Clean cut, not too deep; I bet you bled like a stuck pig, though."

Methos glared at him. "Oh, you're a laugh-riot, Julian."

"All part of the bedside manner." Julian gently probed the wound and Methos bit his lip to keep from yelling. "Looks like you're healing nicely." He took his pulse and checked his skin. "A little shocky from blood loss, but give it twenty-four hours and you should be completely healed. Good job of treating the wound, old man."

"I can't take the credit.  I was too busy bleeding like a stuck pig," Methos said sarcastically. He gestured towards Connor. "Julian, I'd like you to meet Connor MacLeod. He's the one who fixed me up." He didn't add that it was Connor's fault he'd gotten hurt.

"So you treated him?" Julian asked, looking over at Connor and reading between the lines. "Are you also the idiot who tried to carve Adam up?"

Connor looked up indignantly. "I'm not -"

"I've heard of you, Connor MacLeod," Julian said, his eyes as hard as steel. "What I hadn't heard was that you had such bad aim. His head is at least two feet further up."

Connor stiffened. "If I was aiming for his head, I would have taken it."

Julian looked over at Duncan. "And why didn't you stop them? You know how vulnerable Adam is right now."

Duncan flushed slightly. "I wasn't here."

Julian's eyes narrowed. "Let me get this straight. You left Adam alone with a complete stranger, one he said just yesterday he had reason to believe might want his head, that I had to _sedate_ him over? Are you completely insane?"

Both MacLeods frowned. "Why would I want his head?" Connor began.

"It's not my fault!" Duncan protested. "Connor told me to leave!"

"And if he told you to stand back while he whacked off Adam's head, you'd meekly obey?"

"Of course not," Duncan said crossly, feeling like a little boy being scolded by the schoolmaster. Then he caught sight of Methos lying in bed, a smug look on his face. "But - but you didn't see the way he was acting!" he said, pointing at Methos. "He looked like Adam Pierson in that horrible suit, all shy smiles and breathless admiration - 'It's an honor to meet you, Mr. MacLeod,' " he simpered.

"What's wrong with my suit?" Methos asked indignantly. "It cost me seventy-five pounds - got me a job with the Watchers _and_ my first grant."

"Probably felt sorry for you," Duncan said sarcastically. "Figured that anyone who'd spend good money on a suit like that needed a job desperately."

"MacLeod!"

"It _was_ a horrible suit," Connor agreed. "Probably for the best that it was ruined," he added to Duncan. "Otherwise he might have worn it to the wedding." Both MacLeods shuddered at that.

Julian stared at them both, amusement starting to win out over anger. "You attacked him because you didn't like his _suit_? What are we - back in the 1700s?"

"I _didn't_ attack him!" he said indignantly. "He accidentally stepped into my sword."

Julian gave him a disbelieving look. "Right. Adam accidentally stepped into your sword. I don't think I've heard that one as a defense in _centuries_!"

"It wasn't like that! He was talking - "

"Oh, well, that explains it," Julian said, nodding his head. "I've often been driven to violence by Adam talking. It comes from a very natural urge to shut him up."

"You're not helping," Duncan said sharply.

Connor gave Methos a look of appeal. "Tell him."

"Tell him what?" Methos said, opening his eyes wide. He looked impossibly young and innocent, and three pairs of eyes glared at him. "Why are all of you looking at me like that?"

"Because we know you so well?" Julian said dryly. He stood up and held out a hand to Connor. "I can see that you acted under extreme duress, but I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from taking a sword to Adam in future. No matter _how_ irritating he is, he's a special patient of mine."

Connor shook his hand with a slight smile. "No promises, but I'll do my best."

"Hey!" Methos said indignantly. "I'm the injured one over here! Don't you think I deserve a little attention? Comfort? Beer?"

Julian and Duncan exchanged a look. "Oh, he's recovering just fine," Duncan said, amused. He sat beside his lover, picking up his hand. "And you really don't want to know what I think you deserve."

Methos scowled. "You're a bully, Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan grinned, then looked over at Julian. "Is the baby in any danger?" Julian looked sharply at Connor, and he added. "He knows. And before you say anything, he already knew it was possible so we can trust him."

Julian nodded. "The baby should be just fine as long as the sac isn't damaged or Adam doesn't die. Fetuses are natural parasites and the host body will protect him, even at the risk of damage to the 'mother'. The loss of blood is actually more debilitating to Adam than the baby." He gave Methos a stern look as he pulled out bandages and tape. "Which means I want you to take it easy for the next day or two, to give your body a chance to recover."

Methos made a face as Julian bandaged him up. "Yes, mother."

"What about his Quickening?" Connor said suddenly, and Julian looked at him, puzzled. "There's something wrong. I can barely feel it."

Julian shook his head. "It's perfectly normal, and one of the ways nature protects the fetus. The child's pre-Immortal buzz masks the Immortal's own Presence, making him less of a target. Adam will still be able to sense other Immortals as before, but to them he will appear to be a pre-Immortal. Not that it will completely protect him from the unscrupulous among us, those who kill to trigger Immortality and then take the new head, but that's what MacLeod's job is: to protect the one carrying his child."

Duncan's eyes widened. "That's how I knew he was in danger!" Julian nodded. "But Doctor, his buzz is more than a pre-Immortal's. Not much, but enough."

Julian frowned and focused his attention on Methos. "You're right."

"Is it because of his age?" Connor asked.

Julian gave Methos a startled look. "You told him?" Methos nodded. Julian let out a whistle of surprise. "I hope you know what you're doing."

To the others he said, "It's possible; 5000 years is a lot to mask. I don't know for certain since I've never had a pregnant Immortal this old. Or it could be that the masking process is just starting and hasn't had a chance to settle in."

"Speaking of settling," Methos said. "I'd like to go home. I'm wiped.  And no offense, Connor, but I'd rather sleep in my own bed."

Connor's lips twitched. "I think Duncan would prefer that, too."

"Good idea," Julian said approvingly, packing up his bag. "I want to see you in my office in three days to check you over, but in the meantime, go home and put up your feet."

Connor passed Methos the set of sweats he'd dug out, and Methos said, with a grin, "I'm getting quite a collection of MacLeod loaner clothes. I could make a fortune selling them off to your admirers among the Watchers."

"After the damage you do to them?" Duncan said. "No one's that desperate."

"You'd be surprised." Methos started to bend over to slip on his shoes but a sharp pain made him gasp.

"Let me do that, idiot," Duncan said affectionately, taking the shoes away from him.

"Verbal abuse, MacLeod? When I am pregnant _and_ wounded? Is this the kind of thing I can look forward to?" Methos asked, flopping back on the bed with a grin.

"Aye, and you love it," Duncan hauled Methos to his feet. "Connor, we haven't had much of a chance to talk."

Connor nodded. "Dinner tonight?"

"Sounds good. Meet you back here at seven." Sliding an arm around his slightly unsteady partner for the second day in a row, Duncan guided Methos down to the car.

 

* * *

 

Methos was quiet on the way back to his flat, again, and Duncan kept giving him anxious looks out of the corner of his eye until Methos finally chuckled. "I'm _fine_ , Mac. I'm not going to pass out on you."

Duncan sighed. "I know. I just...you were right."

"Of course I was," Methos said affably. "I'm always right. What particular instance were you referring to?"

"I shouldn't have called Connor. But, dammit! I didn't think he'd take a sword to you!"

"Whoa," Methos said, putting up a hand.  "Much as I love hearing this, I don't have the energy to coax you out of a brood."

"Oh, is that what you do?" Duncan asked sarcastically.

"Um-hmm," Methos said with a wicked smile. "I drop in and annoy you so much that you forget what you were brooding about."

Duncan couldn't help smiling at that. "Well, you won't distract me now. You got hurt."

"It was an _accident_ , Mac."

"Yes, but if Connor hadn't pulled his blade, it wouldn't have happened."

Methos shrugged. "He was worried about you. He thought I was taking advantage of you, and he had a good point."

"What?" Duncan frowned.

Methos sighed. "I was a Watcher, MacLeod. I had ample opportunity to read your Chronicles, discover what kind of person you'd be attracted to, and fashion Adam Pierson to fit. And anyone reading your Chronicles would know that you're fascinated with older Immortals."

"Is that what Connor said?" Duncan demanded. He pulled up in front of Methos' apartment building and turned off the car, then turned sideways on the seat to face Methos. "He's wrong, and I'll tell him that to his face."

"What if he's right?" Methos asked.

Duncan looked at him, startled. "What?"

Methos opened the car door and got out, slamming it behind him. "He could be right, you know. I read your Chronicles." He didn't look back at Duncan as he entered the building, fishing his keys out of his coat pocket. "I was fascinated by them, actually. Fascinated by the man they described. Which is why I didn't run when Joe told me you were coming over. The idea of actually meeting you was irresistible."

Instead of heading for the lift, he headed up the stairs, needing to work off the sudden nervous energy he felt. "Who's to say I _didn't_ fashion Adam Pierson to appeal to your protective instincts? That I didn't dangle Methos in front of you like - like some kind of carrot."

" _I_ say you didn't," Duncan said patiently, following Methos up the stairs. "I know you better than that."

"How can you be certain? Hell, even _I'm_ not certain," Methos said, starting down the hallway towards his flat.

Duncan grabbed Methos' arm and spun him around, pressing him up against the wall. He framed the oldest Immortal's face with his hands. "This," he said softly. "This is how I can be certain." He kissed Methos then, a long, slow, intimate kiss. A kiss that went beyond passion, beyond sex, touching their souls.

When he finally pulled back, he was pleased to see that Methos' eyes were glazed over. "Good answer," Methos managed to say, and Duncan grinned at him.

"Come on. You're about to fall down," he said, stepping back and taking the keys out of Methos' hand, once more sliding an arm around Methos to guide him down the hallway.

"That would be because you've turned my knees to jelly," Methos complained. "I don't know who taught you to kiss like that, but I'm torn between not _wanting_ to know and sending them an _enormous_ thank-you gift. Chocolates: those are always in good taste and appreciated."

Duncan chuckled and unlocked the door. "You're blathering. Not that I mind. I'm rather fond of your blathering."

"Mac, no one is fond of my blathering," Methos said as they entered the flat.  He sat down on the bed, wincing. "Driven to insanity, yes. To justifiable homicide, yes. But fond?"

"Yes," Duncan said, closing the door and locking it. Then he advanced on the man sitting on the bed with a predatory prowl. "Ohhhh, yes."

 

* * *

 

Methos lay drowsing in bed, enjoying the sated feeling weighing down every part of his body.  He watched Duncan sort through the clothes hanging in Methos' wardrobe as he got ready to go out to dinner with Connor. Duncan was naked from the waist up, hair slightly damp from the shower, the skin on his back gleaming from the water droplets scattered over it.

Duncan turned and grinned as he saw that Methos was watching him. "You can come with me, you know."

Methos shook his head, yawning. "I'm wiped. Someone kept me up after my bedtime last night, not to mention wore me out earlier.  I don't think that's what Julian meant by taking it easy."

"Funny, I didn't hear any complaints earlier. And easy is your middle name, but I won't tell Julian if you won't." Duncan turned back to the wardrobe. "Hey! Here's my favorite sweater. I've been wondering where it went to."

"Besides," Methos continued, "if I come along you boys won't be able to talk about me."

"Only you would call two men over four hundred years old 'boys'," Duncan said with a grin as he pulled on the sweater. "And what makes you think we're going to talk about _you_?"

"Well, what _else_ would you talk about?" Methos said, a gleam in his eyes.

"I expect we could come up with something else to discuss." Duncan sat down on the bed to pull on his socks and shoes, then leaned over to kiss Methos. He studied his lover's face as he said softly, "You going to be all right?"

Methos snorted. "I'll be fine, Mac. I'm going to sleep for a while and heat up some leftovers when I get hungry."

Duncan nodded. "Good." Then, hesitantly, he said, "I don't know how late Connor and I will be out, and we'll probably stop by Joe's after dinner. I'd like...if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to come back here tonight."

"I'm going to be too tired to do anything," Methos cautioned.

Duncan reached out to brush back the hair from Methos' forehead. "I'm not just here for the sex, Methos. I'd like to sleep with you tonight. Just sleep."

Methos' eyes met his for a long moment then sat up and opened the nightstand drawer. He took out a key and held it out to Duncan.

"Here. It's for you, Duncan."

Duncan swallowed hard as he folded his hand around the key. It was silly to get sentimental about a key, for God's sake, but it felt like this was about much more. "Thanks."

"You'll be late," Methos said softly.

Duncan nodded but he was reluctant to leave, to break the spell they were weaving. He leaned over to kiss Methos again. "You'll take it easy? And call me if you need anything, right?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "I'll be _fine_ , MacLeod. Go."

Duncan stood up and grabbed his coat, pausing in the doorway to look back at his lover. Methos had curled over on his side, wrapped around a pillow, and he was already drifting off to sleep. A feeling of warmth and contentment, of happiness he hadn't known in a long time, filled him and he realized he would do anything and everything within his power to keep this safe.

Anything.


	22. Chapter 22

 

Duncan called Connor and arranged to meet him at the restaurant instead of the hotel. When he arrived, Connor was already relaxing over a bottle of wine and looked at him with a hint of a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'd ask how your friend is doing but I think the glow on your face says it all." Connor gestured to the seat across from him and filled Duncan's wine glass.

Duncan sat down and looked at Connor. "He's not just my friend, Connor. You know that. He's my lover, and my fiancé."

"You're serious about marrying Adam?"

"Of course I am. I told you that on the phone and at the airport. How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me?" He frowned. "You still have doubts about him?"

Connor leaned forward and said, urgently, "I know who he is and I've heard some of the legends, but what do you _really_ know about him, Duncan? About his motivations?"

Duncan stared at Connor. "Adam's right. You really do think he set some sort of trap to catch me. Well, let me tell you something, Connor! All he's done is be my friend and what did it get him? Do you think he _wanted_ this to happen? I can tell you, having had his sword at my throat when he found out, that he didn't."

"He _threatened_ you? But the two of you looked pretty cozy -"

"It took a while for us to get here, and we still have issues to sort out." He toyed with his wine glass. "Can you imagine what it must be like, at his age, with everything he's survived, to suddenly be defenseless, looking to someone else for protection? I don't know that I could do it. And you think I should just walk away?"

"Of course I don't," Connor said. "It's your responsibility to take care of him - that I agree with. But marriage is so more, Duncan. If you're marrying him just because of the baby..."

"You think I gave into my baser instincts and now I'm doing the gentlemanly thing to assuage my guilt?" Duncan shook his head. "Connor, the way I feel about him...I love him. I want to be with him."

"No matter the risks?" Connor asked.

"No matter the risks."

They were both silent for a long moment, remembering those they had loved and lost, and then Connor raised his glass. "Then here's to you and Adam. May you have many long and happy years together."

Duncan smiled and raised his glass in response. "Thanks, Connor. I'm going to give it my best shot."

"Besides," Connor said, after taking a sip of his wine, "now that you're spoken for, maybe I'll have a better chance with the women."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "You're not going to start another argument, are you?"

"Me? I don't start arguments. I start conversations. There's a difference."

Duncan snorted. "Right. How come your _conversations_ always end with me on my butt?"

Connor smiled widely. "Because you never learned to duck?"

They were still squabbling companionably when they entered Le Blues Club two hours later. Joe looked up as they sat down at the bar and said,  "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Duncan sighed. "Hello, Joe. Connor, this is Joe Dawson, the _friend_ I told you about. Joe, I expect you know all about Connor."

"Some," Joe said, grabbing a bottle of Scotch and ignoring Connor's frown. He had a feeling the older Scot didn't like the idea of Watchers. "I thought you'd left town, Mac."

"It hasn't been that long, Joe," Duncan protested. "Two, three days."

"Yeah, and the last I saw of you, Adam was dragging you out to discuss your proposal. I thought the Old Man had taken your head, only we haven't had any freak electrical storms in the area recently." He poured two glasses. "So...?"

Duncan sighed again but gave his Watcher an indulgent look. "We talked. We agreed on a small ceremony and reception.  That reminds me, I have to talk with Gina tomorrow. She and Robert insisted we hold it at their place."

Joe's mouth dropped open. "Adam agreed?"

Duncan smirked. "I can be persuasive."

"Right.  So did you do the puppy-dog eyes and pout thing, or hit him in a weak moment, like right after sex?"

"Are you implying that I _tricked_ Adam into agreeing?" Duncan said with mock outrage.

"Mac, this is _Adam_ we're talking about. Trickery is practically a requirement."

Duncan chuckled at that. "As a matter of fact, he was pretty decent about the whole thing."

"Oh, God," Joe said fatalistically. "You're going to be paying for this for _years_ , Mac."

"Probably," Duncan agreed. "Anyway, he made a few demands of his own, number one being that he wants you to be his Best Man."

Duncan rarely had the chance to catch Joe off-guard; he was gratified to see that this time the Watcher was completely floored. In fact, Joe stood there, opening and closing his mouth for a full minute before he was able to speak.

"You can't be serious."

"You think Methos would make a joke about something like that?"

Joe was silenced again and shakily made his way over to a table. Duncan snagged the bottle of Scotch and another glass and joined him, filling both their glasses. Connor sat down with them and they both watched Joe throw back his drink and pour another.

"He really said that?" Joe asked finally. "What about Julian? They've been friends for two thousand years.  Hell, Julian was his student."

"He really said that." Duncan was touched to see tears in his friend's eyes. "He made it a condition for the wedding. So what do you say?"

Joe drew himself up in his chair. "I say that this calls for a celebration."

Duncan laughed. "On the house?"

"Hell, no! I have to make a profit." Joe grinned. "On the Old Man's tab."

Duncan laughed. "I like the way you think."

 

* * *

 

With the exaggerated care of the very drunk, Duncan let himself into Methos' apartment and smiled when he saw that the bathroom light had been left on for him. He glanced over at the bed and saw a motionless hump under the covers, and his smile widened. There was something very satisfying about coming home to a sleeping lover, something he had missed during the years since Tessa's death. The brief affairs he'd had and his on-again-off-again relationship with Amanda hadn't provided the reassurance he needed, the feeling that someone would always be there. Amazing that one  skinny, snarky old cynic -and a man to boot - could be the one to give him that assurance.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, he slipped off his shoes and tiptoed into the bathroom. A long, cold shower and Immortal healing went a long way towards sobering him up; a good night's sleep would do the rest. He made quick work of brushing his teeth, then turned off the bathroom light.

Methos rolled over on his side towards Duncan as he slipped into bed. "What did you do, drink up Joe's entire stock?"

Duncan chuckled and wrapped his arms around Methos. Obviously his earlier caution had been for nothing. "Made a good dent in it. On your tab, too."

Methos snickered. "Yeah, like Joe's ever going to collect on _that_."

"You're cheap."

"I'm poor, and I need to save my money to buy a new suit, not pay off a bar-tab."

Duncan brushed a kiss over Methos' forehead. "I could pay it off as a wedding present," he offered.

"You can't do that."

"Sure I can. "

"No." Duncan could see that the teasing was gone out of his face and his voice. "Joe knows I'd never stiff him, so..."

Enlightenment dawned in Duncan's eyes. "So as long as you don't pay off your tab, he knows you're coming back."

Methos smiled. "Bright boy."

"Fraud," Duncan said. "You really do care about people. You act like the world's oldest cynic, but under all that, you're a cream puff."

"No need to get insulting," Methos said. He closed his eyes and tucked his head under Duncan's chin. " ' Night, Duncan."

Duncan smiled and wrapped his arms around Methos. The sex had been good, bordering on fantastic, but lying here with his lover in his arms, just resting and feeling comfortable with each other, was even better. He could definitely get accustomed to this.

" 'Night, Methos," he murmured. "Sweet dreams."


	23. Chapter 23

 

Duncan woke with his arms wrapped around a warm, solid body and his nose pressed into soft, short hair. The warm weight of a lover in his arms, the mingled scents of soap and shampoo and sleep-warmed flesh, the sound of steady breathing, all were familiar sensations from years of waking up with various lovers. But this lover was different, unique, and Duncan smiled to himself, cataloging the differences.

He nuzzled the warm neck and pressed a kiss against the skin. "Good morning."

"An oxymoron if ever I heard one," murmured his lover sleepily.

Duncan chuckled and kissed his neck again, his mouth moving slowly towards the sensitive spot that drove Methos wild while one hand languidly caressed his abdomen. "I could make the morning better," he murmured.

"Maaaaac." The tone was complaining, but Duncan had learned every nuance to that voice over the past few years. This wasn't his "leave me alone or I'll take your head" complaint, it was his "I'm doing what I want to do but I can be convinced otherwise" tone. Duncan grinned; he was very good at convincing.

His lips found that spot on Methos' neck, and he licked it and then sucked hard. Methos groaned and tilted his head to give more access to Duncan's mouth. Duncan chuckled and felt Methos shiver at the sensation.

"Like that?" Duncan murmured. He trailed his fingers up his lover's chest, circling one hardening nub as he continued nuzzling his neck.

"What do you think?" Methos asked breathlessly.

"I think you love it. I think you're getting hard just wondering where I'm going to touch you next. I think - "

"I think I have to piss." Methos tossed back the covers and hurriedly exited the bed.

Duncan sighed and sat up. "You really know how to kill a mood," he called out.

Methos gave Duncan the finger as he came out of the bathroom, then headed into the kitchen to pour a glass of juice and grab a packet of crackers. Bearing his treasures, he climbed back into bed and settled against the headboard with a contented sigh.

Duncan watched with undisguised amusement as the old Immortal tore open the wrapping and slowly savored the first cracker. "I think you're getting addicted to those."

Methos gave him a Look. "It's infinitely better than the alternative." He took a sip of juice to wash it down, then started on the second one.

"And you're getting crumbs in the bed," Duncan complained.

Methos drained the juice glass and gave Duncan a mock-irritated look as he set it on the nightstand. "Are you going to kick me out of my own bed, MacLeod?"

"Nope. Got something much more fun in mind." Duncan pounced, pinning Methos to the mattress. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, right about here." He found the sensitive spot on Methos' neck and kissed it.

"Are you always amorous the morning after you get drunk?" Methos asked, amused.

Duncan grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Beats a hangover."

"From _your_ point of view."

Duncan's grin widened and he ground against Methos. "I've never had any complaints."

Methos groaned and arched upward to keep his body pressed against Duncan's. "No, I don't suppose you have."

Duncan chuckled and leaned forward to nuzzle Methos' neck again. Then suddenly Methos was moving, rolling until he had Duncan pinned. He smiled wickedly down at Duncan.

"Not so amusing to be on this end, is it?"

Duncan grinned back. He loved it when Methos became the aggressor in their interactions, whether it be sparring or, more recently, in bed. The glimpses of the dangerous predator behind the acerbic wit and cynical intelligence fascinated him, and he knew without words that he was one of the few to see that side of Methos and live. The awareness of danger sharpened his senses and made him more keenly aware of every touch.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "It could be amusing, if you'd stop talking and start using that smart mouth for something else."

Methos' eyes gleamed as he shifted so that he was straddling Duncan's body. "I see. And what do you think my 'smart mouth' could be doing?" He leaned over and kissed Duncan, possessing his mouth and his tongue for a long moment. "That, for example?"

Duncan tried to remember how to breathe. "It's a good start. Can you come up with other ideas or should I offer suggestions?"

"Would you and your hand like to finish this by yourselves?"

Duncan laughed at the tart rejoinder and threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! You know so much, Mr I'm-older-than-dirt-and-have-fucked- oh God!"

Duncan arched up as Methos' mouth fastened on a spot on his chest that Duncan hadn't even known was sensitive to such touches. And then the talented mouth was moving to another spot, teasing and tormenting, making Duncan writhe under the unending assault. There wasn't a pleasure center Methos didn't locate and possess, a hot spot left unattended, or an inch of Duncan's body left unexplored. Except for the increasingly painful hardness at his groin.

By the time Methos finally relented and took his cock into his mouth, Duncan had gone past demanding release, past begging, even past whimpering. One touch of that wicked mouth on his cock and he was lost, arching upward with a gasp as his body pumped out his release. He could feel his lover's mouth working over him, swallowing everything he had to give, soothing his heated flesh, until finally he collapsed in a sated lump on the bed.

He was vaguely aware of Methos' body moving up his, pressing along his skin, and then sharp teeth nipped his earlobe.  "Like my ideas?"

"Oh, yeah," he managed to croak.

"Suggestions?" the mocking voice asked.

He could feel the rock-hard cock of his lover against his thigh and grinned. "Just one. Come here." He wrapped his arms around Methos, kissing him hard, and then murmured in his lover's ear. "Fuck my mouth. I want to taste you, feel you come down my throat."

He felt his lover's body shudder in his arms and heard him mutter something that was probably an expletive in some dead language. Then Methos was there, straddling his chest, his cock jutting forward to rest against Duncan's lips. Duncan couldn't resist sticking out his tongue to caress the tip, and Methos' eyes nearly rolled up in his head.

"God!"

Duncan's hands caught his lover's hips, keeping him from collapsing, and he pulled the other man closer as his mouth opened to take in the hard flesh. He heard Methos moan, watched as he abandoned himself to pleasure, moving  back and forth in response to Duncan's urging. Duncan couldn't take his eyes off his lover: Methos' back was arched, his eyes clenched shut, pleasure running through every line of his taut, lean body.

It was the most beautiful and erotic thing he had ever seen.

And then Methos was gasping something, shuddering and coming hard, before collapsing in a boneless heap on Duncan's chest. Duncan wrapped his arms around the other man, holding him against the after-shocks racking his body, soothing him back to earth. He knew he was grinning like an idiot but he didn't care.

After a few minutes, Methos revived enough to roll off Duncan's body, collapsing on the bed beside him with a little groan. Duncan grinned and rolled on his side, propping himself on one elbow, trailing the other hand up and down Methos' sweaty body.

"Having trouble keeping up, old man?" he asked and got a baleful stare in response. He chuckled and leaned over to kiss Methos briefly. "Well, I was going to suggest a shared shower, but I don't think you're up to it." His hand teased Methos' spent cock.

Methos groaned as he saw that his lover's cock was firming up again. "That's it, no more drinking binges for you. At least not until I get my energy back. You're going to kill me."

Duncan laughed again, then dragged Methos into the shower with him.

 

* * *

 

By the time Duncan finished shaving and pulled on the clothes he had brought in his overnight bag, he could smell coffee brewing and bacon cooking. He padded into the main room in his bare feet and leaned against the wall for a moment watching Methos move around the kitchen. It was a joy to watch his lover in motion and he thought he could stand there forever.

Methos had other ideas. "Are you going to stand there and watch, or are you going to help?"

"I have a choice?" Duncan asked with a grin, taking the plates thrust towards him.

"Yeah: help or eat elsewhere." Methos poured two cups of the decaf coffee and set them on the counter, then removed the bacon and eggs from the heat, sliding them onto plated.

Duncan chuckled. "How about I cook dinner for you at my place tonight?"

"How about you wash these dishes after breakfast _and_ cook me dinner?" Methos countered. "In gratitude for the best sex you've had in your four hundred years."

"You don't think much of yourself, do you?" Duncan asked, amused. "And I wouldn't say it was the _best,_ although it was certainly in the top ten." He caught Methos' glare and said, smoothly, "The _best_ was our second 'first time'."

"Oh."

Duncan was amused to see that he was completely taken by surprise and took the coffee mugs out of his hands before he could drop them. "Surprised?"

"Stunned," Methos admitted. "I would have thought a past lover like Amanda..."

Duncan set down the mugs and pulled Methos into his arms. "Stop fishing for compliments," he teased. "And just to set the record straight, you hold all the top rankings now." He kissed Methos briefly, then let the kiss intensify slightly, conveying everything he felt for the other Immortal.

"Our breakfasts are getting cold," Methos murmured, sliding out of Duncan's arms. He  knew it was a defensive move and readily let him go, giving Methos the space he needed for the moment. He knew Methos wouldn't go very far.

"Got any plans for today?" he asked Methos as he sat down and started eating.

Methos took a sip of his coffee and made a face. "Why anyone thinks this stuff tastes like the real thing is beyond me," he muttered, stirring sugar into it. "Plans? I've got to do a little more work with Joe on that chronicle this morning."

"I can drop you off," Duncan offered, forestalling any argument by adding, "Unless you want to come out to see Gina with me."

Methos hastily demurred, agreeing to be dropped at Joe's place. "And don't think I don't know you just manipulated me," Methos advised darkly. "I just have a feeling that if I don't agree, you're going to chain me to the bed."

"Now there's a thought," Duncan said, as if he was seriously contemplating it.  He ducked as Methos aimed a cuff at his head. "I won't be at Gina's long.  Connor is flying out this afternoon and I promised to take him to the airport."

Methos looked up, surprised. "He's going back so soon?"

Duncan smiled at his lover across the table. "Guess he figures I'm safe with you," he teased. "He'll be back a week before the wedding. You want to go with us to the airport?"

Methos considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "You go ahead without me. I'm sure you both have a few things to say to each other without an audience. You can pick me up at Joe's when you get back. You _did_ promise to cook dinner for me, remember?"

"Of course." Duncan ate a little more of his breakfast. "You might want to bring a few things with you for tomorrow," he said casually. "You're welcome to leave things  at the barge."

The corner of Methos' mouth quirked up. "Thanks. I'll do that."

They finished their breakfast in companionable silence, then Duncan went to finish dressing while Methos hauled out an overnight bag and stuck a couple changes of clothes in it. The stack of mail on his desk caught his attention as well, and he picked it up and tucked it into his bag as well, planning to sort through the pile later.

In the car on the way over to Joe's, Duncan remembered the guest list he'd started the previous day and pulled it out of his pocket, handing it to Methos. "I made a list of people I'd like to invite. You want to add whoever else you want to it?"

Methos studied the list for a moment, then pulled out a pen and added a name to the bottom before handing the list back to Duncan. Duncan glanced briefly at the paper and frowned when he only saw one name added.

"Julian? That's it?"

Methos sighed. "Duncan, I don't have that many Immortal friends left."

"What about other friends:  the University, the Watchers?"

Methos gave him an amused look. "You want to invite Watchers, other than Joe, to an Immortal wedding? Are you insane?"

"Why not?" Duncan said dryly. "They're going to find a way to get their people there anyways as caterers, musicians, and so forth. You might as well issue a legitimate invitation to your friends."

"I don't have any," Methos said quietly. "Not anymore."

Duncan blinked. "You must. You were with them for ten years."

"And then I supposedly became an Immortal. After what Joe went through, none of them will risk being friends with an Immortal."

Methos' voice was slightly bitter and Duncan felt a flood of sympathy for him. No matter what Duncan's current opinion of the Watchers was, "Adam Pierson" had been with them for ten years and Duncan thought the people he had worked with owed him _something_ for that. And Duncan felt guilty for the estrangement, too.  If he had walked away when he'd first met Methos, if he'd refused to involve the Watcher/Immortal in his problems, if...

"When did they find out?"

"What?" Methos asked, looking sideways at Duncan. "Oh. In Seacouver, when Kronos..." Methos took a deep breath. "...killed me."

"What?" Duncan said and nearly caused an accident as he swiveled his head to look at Methos. "You didn't tell me that. When?"

"After I left you outside the studio, when we sensed a Presence. He was waiting outside my flat. Put a knife right into my heart before I even saw him."

"And there was a Watcher nearby."

Methos nodded. "Cassandra's. He'd lost track of her and just happened to be in the area, trying to pick up her trail."

"They didn't tie you to Kronos?"

"No. Joe says that the consensus is that I was a pre-Immortal. Kronos found out that I was a friend of yours, and decided to use me as a hostage against you. Your habit of befriending pre-Immortals is well-known."

"And they turned against you, too." Duncan's voice was low as he added up all the betrayals his friend had suffered during that horrible period. His former brothers, the Watchers, himself - all had turned their backs on Methos at a time when he could have used allies.

Methos shrugged. "I was always closer to Don than any of the other Watchers. It's not a big deal, MacLeod, so stop brooding."

Duncan gave him a half-smile as he pulled up in front of Joe's. "Should I be worried that you know me so well?"

Methos grinned. "Probably."

He got out of the car, waving farewell, and walked over to Joe's door. Duncan watched him knock on the door and then suddenly decided he couldn't let Methos go like that this morning. He got out of the car and walked up to Methos. The old Immortal looked around in surprise, but Duncan didn't give him a chance to say anything. He took Methos' face between his hands and gave him a quick, hard kiss.

"I love you, Methos," he said quietly. "Never forget that."

Methos gave him a smile, the one that lit up his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I know." He put a hand on his chest and playfully pushed him away. "Now get out of here. We both have things to do." Duncan grinned, hearing what Methos didn't say out loud, and turned back to his car. "And remember, MacLeod - no swans."

 

* * *

 

"Duncan!" Gina cried out at seeing him and hurried down the stairs. She hugged him with her usual exuberance and he smiled, kissing her with enthusiasm. She laughed and playfully pushed him away.

"You are so bad," she scolded. "And what would Adam say if he caught you kissing me?"

Duncan grinned. "He'd probably push me out of the way and demand equal time."

She laughed and linked arms with him, slowly leading him to the small drawing room that she had made her own personal sanctuary. "You deserve each other," she said with mock severity.

Duncan smiled. "I like to think so."

"I am glad you are here. I have so many things to discuss with you. And you brought a list of guests, yes?"

"Yes, but - "

"I have so many plans, Duncan! First of all, there'll be _hors d'oeuvres_ and champagne in the large parlor before the ceremony. Now, for the ice sculpture, do you prefer swans or doves?"

Duncan felt a sinking sensation in his stomach and he sat down. "Adam has an aversion to swans," he said feebly.

"Then doves it is." She frowned, consulting her list. "I'd better cancel the live swans then but I don't know what to replace them with. Doves are traditional, but you remember what happened when Robert insisted on them for our first wedding. Perhaps peacocks..."

"Gina," Duncan said desperately. "I don't want swans or doves or peacocks."

Gina gave him a perplexed look. "What would you like instead?"

"What I want is a simple ceremony and a small, intimate reception."

Gina blinked her eyes, stunned into silence for a moment. "But - Duncan, are you sure? I know how much you like parties."

"Adam doesn't."

"Ah, a shy one, is he?" Gina said, knowledgeably nodding her head. "Not to worry, Duncan. I will make sure that he is well looked after, and it's not like this is going to be an _enormous_ affair. _Hors d'oeuvres_ , a four-course dinner for no more than a hundred guests - nothing much. Now, I was thinking about using blue and gold for the theme colors and Robert's tailor has these exquisite tuxedos in light blue with gold trim: expensive but then the really good things are. Unless you think that Adam would prefer to wear white, in which case..."

"Gina, you're not listening."

"Of course I am," she said indignantly.

"No, you're not," he said gently. "I appreciate all the trouble you're going to for us, and under other circumstances, I'd love something like this, but it would make Adam uncomfortable."

"But Duncan, everyone wants a big celebration when they get married!" Gina protested. "I'm certain he would enjoy it."

"Not Adam," Duncan said firmly. He saw the stubborn look on her face, and for once he blessed the "poor grad student" persona that Methos had created. Taking Gina's hands in his, he said, "Gina, when you and Robert first married, he was wealthier than you but you were not without means of your own. Can you imagine how you would have felt if you had been a woman of ordinary means marrying into all that?"

A dimple peeped in the corner of her mouth. "Like Cinderella."

"Exactly. But a man doesn't want to feel like Cinderella, not a proud man like Adam. If we throw a big party, he simply will not come."

Gina gave him a horrified look. "He would stand you up? In front of all your friends?"

"Exactly," Duncan said. " _My_ friends. When I asked him for his guest list, he only had one name to add. He has no family, few friends, no regular associates.  And you know what many of our friends will say."

"That he's taking advantage of you," Gina said slowly. "That you're giving him everything: wealth, protection, entrée in your circle..."

"Even Connor thought that before he met Adam yesterday," Duncan said. "Those of my friends who've met him - you, Robert, Amanda, Richie - know better, but the others are going to think that. And there's no way I can tell even you how much he is giving to me."

Gina smiled faintly. "You think I don't know? Love for a lifetime - our lifetime, not a mortal one. Companionship from someone who knows what our lives are like. A strong sword at your side and a brother to guard your back. Family..." She gave him a speculative look. "I've often thought that you should adopt a child, Duncan.  You'd be a good father."

He smiled.  It was the perfect opening to plant the idea that he and Methos had agreed on. "Adam thinks so, too.  He and I have looked into private adoption, and there's a possibility that by next year..." He left the sentence hanging.

Gina beamed at him. "Oh, Duncan! That's wonderful news!" She hugged and kissed him.

Robert walked in, chuckling as he saw this. "Making time with my wife, Duncan?"

"Every chance I get," Duncan said with a grin, releasing Gina to shake Robert's hand.

"Robert, Duncan and Adam are planning to adopt a child! Isn't that wonderful news?"

Robert smiled and clasped Duncan's hand warmly. "The best. I've always thought you'd make a good father."

"Thanks." He hesitated for a moment and then decided to lay the groundwork for their relocation to wherever they'd have to go once Methos' condition became apparent. "We'll have to leave Paris - there too many headhunters here - but wherever we end up, I want you both to know that you will always be welcome."

Robert nodded soberly, knowing that Duncan's "out there" Parisian lifestyle wasn't ideal for a family. "I understand. How soon?"

"Not before fall. We haven't started looking yet."

"In the meantime, we have a lot of work to do planning this wedding," Gina said briskly.

Robert looked at Gina in surprise, under the impression that she already had everything planned, down to the color of the napkins. "But, my love?"

"You said small and intimate, Duncan?" Gina said, directing a speaking look at her husband. "Formal or informal?"

"Formal," Duncan said, smiling. "Adam has promised to wear a tux and that's something I've got to see."

Gina beamed at him. "Formal, elegant, and intimate.  You are right, Duncan. It will be much more suitable than the large, noisy affair Robert was thinking about."

Robert opened his mouth to protest, then shrugged and submitted to being the scapegoat. "Sorry, my love. You know I get carried away sometimes." The grateful look in Gina's eyes promised that he'd be carried away in an entirely different manner once Duncan left.

"Joe Dawson will be Adam's best man, and Connor will be mine," Duncan added.

Gina smiled widely. "I haven't seen Connor in ages!" An idea came into her head. "Duncan, you and Connor should wear full Highland dress."

Duncan blinked. "You mean a kilt? I haven't worn a kilt in years!"

Gina didn't pay any attention, warming to the plan unfolding in her head. "In fact, the whole wedding should be a blending of your traditions and Adam's. Dress, music, ceremony, food..." She paused and frowned. "Adam is English - do the English _have_ any traditions?"

"Actually he's Welsh, but..."

Gina shrugged expressively. "No matter, I'll find out. A simple ceremony in the garden, an elegant buffet supper with a string quartet in the dining hall, dancing - I know you like classical music, Duncan, but what kind of music does Adam prefer?"

"Loud," Duncan said ruefully. "Bands with names like diseases or hardware parts."

"Ah, the young," Gina said indulgently. "Interesting but not appropriate for the occasion. I'll think of something. Do you two have a favorite song?" She sighed impatiently when Duncan looked blank. "For your first dance, Duncan."

"Not really."

"Men. Not an ounce of romance in your souls."  She smiled at her husband. "With the exception of my darling Robert."

Duncan gave her an amused smile. "Which must be why you married him, instead of me or Fitz."

Her smile changed into a wistful one. "Dear Fitz. He would have loved to see this day, wouldn't he? Duncan MacLeod finally getting married."

"He would have tried to steal Adam away from me," Duncan retorted, then sighed. "Yeah. I wish he could have been here, too." And Darius, too, he thought to himself wistfully.

They were all silent for a moment, remembering friends lost to the Game over the years, then Gina shook herself and said briskly, "We have no time for sadness.  We have much to plan and only a month to do it! Do you have a list of people you want invited, Duncan?"

Duncan handed her a sheet of paper and she scanned down the list, raising an eyebrow at the last name. "Julian Fremont? I didn't know you knew him?"

"He's a friend of Adam's," Duncan said. "They have a teacher/student relationship."

"Ah, I wondered where the young one had learned to fight since you weren't his teacher," Robert said. "I wasn't aware that Julianus was taking on students."

"Adam was a special case," Duncan said evasively.

"I don't see your friend Cassandra on the list," Gina continued.

"She's not," Duncan said abruptly, and the Valincourts looked at him, surprised at his tone. "She and Adam had a little run-in two months ago."

Robert's eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't think she was hunting - ah!" he said as understanding hit him. "She was jealous of your new love, yes? Thought to eliminate competition when she learned of your serious intentions?"

"Something like that," Duncan murmured. "I don't think she'll try it again but I'd rather not court temptation."

"But of course," Gina said, setting the list down on her desk. "I shall have a sample of the invitation drawn up by tomorrow, and we can have them ready to mail out in a week."

"Sounds good."  Duncan glanced at his watch. "I need to be going. I promised to take Connor to the airport."

The Valincourts escorted him down to his car and stood in the courtyard, their arms around each other's waist as they watched him drive off.

"So why the change in plans, my love?" Robert asked. "I thought you were planning the Event of the Century, second only to our last."

"Duncan," she said simply. "He was afraid that Adam would be..."

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yes. He loves Adam very much." She looked up at her husband with a smile. "Do you think they love each other as much as we do?"

"No one loves like we do," Robert said, kissing her tenderly. "But give them a few centuries and they might come close."

Gina laughed softly and kissed Robert back, then took his hand and led him back inside.


	24. Chapter 24

 

Connor was waiting in the lobby when Duncan arrived at the hotel and he grinned as Duncan entered alone.

"What, you didn't drag Adam along with you? You feel safe leaving him alone?"

Duncan gave him an irritated look as he put Connor's bag in the trunk. "He's an adult, Connor. I think he can spend a little time on his own." As Connor continued to stare at him, he caved. "All right, he's with Joe. Satisfied?"

"It'll do," Connor said. "I've never seen anyone with such a gift for getting into trouble. Except you, of course."

"Me?" Duncan said indignantly as they got in the car. "I don't get into trouble. Well, not that often." He glared at his cousin. "I wouldn't laugh. You know neither of us is off the hook. Julian was too easy on us."

"I agree," Connor said. I don't know why."

"I expect Julian thought Methos might get upset if he gutted both of us in front of him."

"I doubt it's as simple as that."

Duncan gave Connor a sideways look. "You don't trust him. Julian Fremont, I mean."

"I don't trust many people," he said dryly.

"Joe checked him out and says he's a good guy. He's about two thousand but has a  low head count; prefers to create life, not take it."

"And that's what has me worried," Connor said. "An Immortal, working in reproductive medicine? Why subject himself to that? Unless he plans on using it for his own purposes."

"Come on, Connor! That's just paranoid, even by your standards. In the first place, Julian's primary clients are _mortals._ Second, he's helped other Immortals in this situation in the past _without_ turning it to his benefit, so I doubt he's going to change now. And third, just in case you think it's Methos he's after, the two of them have known each other for two thousand years. Methos was his first teacher. They were lovers, and if anything was going to happen, it would have happened back then."

"You're too trusting, Duncan."

"And you're too paranoid." He gave his cousin an amused look. "You're just trying to get out of trouble."

"I'd think that you'd be more worried. This is _your_ fiancé we're talking about."

"I trust Julian, and even if I didn't, I trust Methos." Even as he said it, Duncan realized for the first time just what that meant. He'd told Methos earlier that he trusted him with his heart and his life, but now he knew just how deep that trust went. No matter what he'd been or what he'd done. No matter the half-truths and evasions. At the root, no matter how illogical it might seem, he trusted Methos. He smiled.

He heard Connor's soft laugh and looked at him inquiringly. "Oh, you have it bad, Duncan," Connor said in mock disgust. "I haven't seen that silly of a grin on your face since that time you fell in love with the twins in Italy."

"I do _not_ have a silly grin on my face," Duncan said indignantly. "And you're just jealous because _you_ were interested in the twins."

"You always got all the good women," Connor said mournfully.

Duncan smirked. "Most of them weren't _good_.  What would have been the fun in that?"

"It's a good thing you're getting married," Connor pronounced. "Gives us lesser men a chance at getting lucky."

"As if Alexandra wouldn't take your head if you even _looked_ at another woman," Duncan scoffed. "Not that you would, you're so whipped."

After they both chuckled, Connor said seriously, "I really am glad for you, Duncan. I like Adam...Methos." He paused for a moment. "I don't think I could put up with him on a daily basis, but he'll be good for you. Shake you up a bit, make you _think_ for a change. And with a little one around, you can't take so many chances. You'll need to think of your own safety, and that of your new clan."

Duncan rolled his eyes at hearing another of his cousin's lectures. "Yes, Connor. Right, Connor. Whatever you say, Connor."

Connor grinned widely. "See? He's good for you already."

Duncan contemplated wiping the smug look off Connor's face by crashing the car, but decided that he was too attached to it - the car - to want to damage it. He'd think of a suitable revenge later. Idly, he wondered what Cory was up to lately.

 

* * *

 

Duncan saw Connor off then headed back to the parking lot. Before getting back on the road, he took out his phone and called Methos' cell number. Methos' voice on the other end was abstracted and he couldn't help smiling.

"Hello, Professor. Remember me?"

He heard Methos' snort. "Mac, it's only been three hours. I think my memory's good enough to retain your image and voice for, oh, at least ten or twelve hours."

"You think?"

"MacLeod, you're not going to be one of those guys who calls every few hours just to hear the sound of my voice, are you? Because if you are, I'm going to be violently ill."

"Not on my floor, you're not," he heard Joe's voice in the background and grinned.

"I promise I'm not."

"And you're not going to call all the time to check up on me, or follow me around like a jealous lunatic, are you?"

Duncan grinned wider. "No, I'm not."

"Good." There was a pause. "Why not?"

"Why should I be jealous?"

"Well, you might at least pretend to be a _little_ jealous.  I'm not completely hideous and I've been known to attract my fair share of attention."

"No, you're not. Completely hideous."

"Thanks a lot, MacLeod."

"In fact, I seem to recall that you're one of the most good looking men I've ever seen." He heard a sharp intake of breath and said, "Of course, my memory's not as good as yours and I could do with a little refresher on just how good you look. Especially when you're kneeling over my body, your head thrown back in ecstasy and your skin flushed with passion."

There was a groan and a clatter on the other end, as if Methos had fumbled the phone, and he grinned at having flustered the old man. His own voice deepened with arousal as he said, "So, what do you say? Ready for me to take you home and make mad, passionate love to you?"

"Gee, I don't think so, Mac, but thanks for asking," growled a completely different voice on the phone and Duncan involuntarily straightened.

"Joe!"

"Bad enough watching you two inhale each others' tonsils without you interrupting work for a little phone sex, and just when I was getting some decent work outta him for a change."

"I wasn't!" He couldn't remember being this embarrassed since he was two hundred.

"Tell it to someone who'll believe you."

Duncan heard the phone being passed back to Methos and groaned.  "Is it possible to die from embarrassment?"

He heard Methos' soft laugh. "Not that I've experienced, no."

"You realize I won't be able to show my face to Joe for months."

"Mac, he's been your Watcher for how long? I'm sure he's seen and heard plenty while Watching you that was _much_ more embarrassing."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Makes _me_ feel better," Methos said cheerfully.

"Oh, you're a lot of help!"

"Does this mean you're _not_ picking me up early for crazed monkey sex?"

"Believe me, the mood has been killed. You'll be lucky if you get any at all tonight."

Methos laughed softly. "I'll wager I can help rekindle the fire."

Duncan grinned. "I wouldn't be surprised. So, do I take it from Joe's diatribe that you're not ready for me to pick you up?"

"Actually, no. Joe and I have to go over to the University library to check out a reference and that's probably going to take the better part of the day. Why don't we meet back at the club at five? That'll give us a chance to have a round with Joe before dinner. You _do_ remember you promised to cook dinner for me tonight?"

Duncan smiled. "I remember. I'll see you at five, then. And Methos..."

He could almost hear the smile on the other end. "I know. Me, too."

Duncan disconnected and put away his phone, then started the car. If he was going to make Methos a decent meal tonight - no, a spectacular meal - he needed to do some shopping. A _lot_ of shopping, and not just for food. He smiled to himself as he started making plans.

 

* * *

 

Duncan parked his car in front of the barge and got out. He grabbed two bags of groceries and headed for the walkway, only to be stopped cold by the sense of Presence. Cautiously, he looked around but there wasn't anyone nearby. That meant the Immortal was on the barge, and more than likely one of his friends, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He set down the bags and pulled out his katana, silently moving up the walkway and through the partially open door. The scent of a familiar perfume and the sight of a well-known form draped across his couch made him groan as he put away his sword.

"Amanda. What are you doing here?"

Amanda looked up at him with a pout. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Of course I am, but a little surprised. How did you know I'd be here?"

"I called Joe and he said you weren't there but Methos was, so I figured you'd eventually turn up here." She sat up and gave Duncan an amused look. "Did you really proposition Joe?"

"Of course not!" Duncan said. "I thought it was Methos on the phone."

"Duncan, they sound _nothing_ alike." Her eyes twinkled. "Or are you _that_ love-struck?"

He gave her a withering look. "Make yourself useful and help carry in the groceries."

"I'm always useful," she protested, following him out to the car. Duncan gave her another withering look and thrust a bag into her arms. She peeked into the top of it and grinned. "Flowers? For _Methos_?"

Duncan picked up the two bags. "What? You don't think he deserves flowers?"

Seeing the trap only after she had stepped into it, Amanda said hastily, "Yes, well, of _course_ he does. I mean, everyone deserves flowers but not every _likes_ them."

"You think he would prefer something else? Candy, jewelry, furs?" He set the bags down on the counter and said, musingly, "Come to think of it, he _did_ mention mink and diamonds when I proposed."

"He didn't!" Amanda said, stunned.

"Mmm," Duncan said, going back out to the car to fetch the last bags. "I told him sables were more his style, but I think this will be even better, don't you?"

Amanda was surprised at the weight of the package put into her arms but the dimensions told her it could only be one thing. "It's a book, isn't it?"

"You're bright," Duncan said, carrying the last of the bags into the kitchen and starting to unpack them. "A book he mentioned he was looking for when we were in Seacouver before...everything."

"Well, at least a book makes sense. But - sables?"

Duncan grinned. "I know, but it would be worth it to see the look on his face when he opened the box."

"You like to live dangerously, don't you?"

Duncan finished putting away the groceries. "You didn't come here to discuss my idea of romantic gifts, did you?"

"Well, actually, I need your help."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised? What did you do now?"

"Duncan MacLeod! I didn't _do_ anything! Well, not _recently_."

Duncan poured them each a glass of wine and carried the glasses over to the couch. "Then why do you need my help?"

"I've decided to buy a place here in Paris and I'd like to get your opinion."

Duncan gave her a disbelieving look. "You told me you'd never buy a place in Paris when you can stay at a five star hotel and be pampered, or stay here."

"A girl can change her mind, can't she? And I don't think Methos would approve of me taking up residence here."

Duncan grinned. "Good point."

Amanda beamed at him and grabbed a handful of real estate flyers. "I knew you'd see that. These are the places I've narrowed it down to. What do you think?"

Duncan sat down and looked over each flyer carefully, taking in the glossy photos and the realtor's hyperbole on the back. "These don't seem like your usual style, Amanda. Quiet neighborhoods, parks, and all on holy ground."

"You can never own too many of those," Amanda said darkly.

"And they're a little big for one person, unless you're planning to entertain a lot." He gave her a suspicious look. "What are you up to? These places look more suitable for someone with a family than you."

"Really?" Amanda craned her head to look at the flyer in his hand. "Well, of course, if you like any of them, you are more than welcome..."

"Amanda."

She gave up. "Fine. Okay. I got these for you to look at, all right? Happy now?"

He sighed and sat back on the couch. "I'm touched that you went to so much trouble, but why?"

"Isn't it obvious? The sooner you get Methos onto holy ground, the better."

He gave her a puzzled look. "Why is it so important to you?"

The suspicion that she and Methos might have been lovers in the past crossed his mind. Not that he thought either of them would go behind his back, but somehow the idea of the two of them together made him feel uncomfortable.

She shrugged. "I don't know, it just is." She paced across the room, chewing on the side of her thumb. "After I left Rebecca, even when I didn't see her or hear from her for years, it made me feel good to know that she was alive and well. Made me feel safe, somehow. I guess I thought if someone could survive the Game as long as she had, there was hope for me. That's how I feel about Methos." She looked over at Duncan, and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "And the idea that someone could kill him.. It scares me, Duncan."

Duncan got up and crossed the room, folding her in his arms. "I know," he said quietly. "It scares me, too. And I do appreciate this, but you know we're going to have to leave Paris. It'll be too dangerous for him to stay here, even without Hunters. If the wrong people were to catch sight of him..."

Amanda shuddered. It was one of the terrors of living in the modern world, ending up in some lab under a microscope. "Paris won't be the same without you," she said mournfully.

"We won't be out of touch, and we won't be too far away. Methos needs to be near his doctor, after all. And I plan on keeping the barge, to have someplace to stay when we're in Paris." He tilted up her head, wiping away her tears. "Look, I'm supposed to join Joe and Methos in two hours for a drink. Why don't you come, too?"

Amanda nodded, moving away to grab her purse. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes, and then gave him a brave smile. "Give me a minute to fix my face, okay?"

"Be my guest," he said, gesturing towards the bathroom. "I need to get those flowers you don't approve of into water and make a few preparations for dinner, so take however long you need."

She brushed a kiss over his cheek. "You're the best, Duncan MacLeod. And I hope Methos appreciates what he's got."

Duncan grinned at her. "Appreciates may be too strong a word, but he knows he's stuck with me. For better or worse."

Knowing from experience that Amanda's "minute" could take quite a while, Duncan didn't hurry through his preparations, but he still found he was done before she was. He thought about calling Methos again, just to hear him grumble, but decided he was going to have to endure enough ribbing from Joe as it was, so he pulled out the card with Julian's private number and called him instead.

"Julian Fremont." Julian's voice sounded pre-occupied.

"Dr. Fremont, it's Duncan MacLeod. Is this a bad time?"

"Of course not. Is everything all right?"

"He's fine. He slept a lot yesterday and seemed okay this morning. I didn't have a chance to check his injury earlier, but I'll check it when I see him tonight."

He could almost hear Julian's frown over the phone. "He's not with you now?"

"He's with Joe, couldn't be safer. Joe's a tough old bird and would give his life for Adam."

"If you're sure," Julian said doubtfully.

"I'm sure. Look, why don't you join us for drinks at five? We'll be at Le Blues Club."

"Sounds good, but you didn't call me up to invite me out for drinks, did you?" Julian said.

"No," Duncan said. "I wanted to ask you something, since you're the only friend of Methos' I know about."

"And that is?" If anything, Julian's voice got even warily.

"I'm putting together an invitation list for the wedding, and the only name Methos had to add was yours. I was wondering - hoping - if you could give me an idea of other friends Methos might have."

He heard Julian sigh. "Probably not, MacLeod. Methos usually steered clear of other Immortals, unless they were students, and as far as I know, Byron was his last."

Duncan winced at that name; of course Julian would know about him. "About Byron..."

"I don't blame you, MacLeod," Julian said gently. "George was a troubled man, even when he was a young Immortal, and time just made it worse. You did what you had to do."

Abruptly changing subjects, he said, "Methos knew Marcus and his student."

"Ceridwyn?"

"Yes, that's the one. The last I heard, they were on friendly terms, but it's probably been centuries since they met."

Duncan frowned; both of their names had been on his list and Methos hadn't said a word about either. He hoped that meant good news but knew that he was going to have to worm it out of the old Immortal. "What about mortals?"

Julian sighed. "The last time I saw Methos was over twenty years ago, and that was only briefly, so even if I knew his friends then, they'd all be around fifty now. And the last time we spent any significant time together was a hundred years ago. What about that Watcher friend of yours. Surely he'd know about Adam Pierson's friends and colleagues."

"According to Methos, they dropped him like he had the plague when they found out he'd become an Immortal," Duncan said bitterly.

"I doubt that," Julian said. "He's an irritating pain-in-the-ass most of the time, but he can also be very charming." Ignoring Duncan's muttered, 'tell me about it', he added, "He always had a way of endearing himself to mortals, and I doubt he's lost the old Methosian charm."

"I'll check with Joe," Duncan promised. "And you'll join us at the club? You know where it is?" Receiving an affirmative to both questions, Duncan disconnected and sat for a long time, lost in thought, until the sound of Amanda coming out of the bathroom caught his attention.

Amanda let out a whistle as she caught sight of the table that Duncan had set. "Pulling out all the stops, are we? Duncan MacLeod's patented seduction set-up. But Duncan, forgive me for asking, but haven't you already gotten him into bed? Or have you done something stupid you're apologizing for?"

Duncan gave her a withering look. "I do _not_ have a 'patented seduction set-up', and it's none of your business."

"Must have been really bad," Amanda murmured. "Come on, confess. You know I'll just find out about it."

Duncan shrugged, flushing slightly. "I told Connor about Adam, and he came here to check Methos out. And, well, it was an accident, but I let Connor stab Methos..."

" _What_?" Amanda shrieked. "Are you _insane_? You let your cousin go after his head?"

"It wasn't anything like that!" Duncan protested. "It was an accident."

"An accident?" Amanda said, rolling her eyes. "Don't give me that crap! Is he all right? Did you at least kill Connor?"

"Of course I didn't kill Connor!" Duncan said, affronted. "I told you, it was an accident. Methos didn't even blame Connor for it." He paused. "He blamed me."

"And rightly so!" Amanda retorted. "How could you _do_ that?" A horrifying thought struck her. "The baby - it's all right, isn't it?"

"It's fine. His doctor checked him out and said Methos and the baby were OK." Duncan suddenly recalled something. "And speaking of doing something: you told Gina about us."

Amanda flushed but airily shrugged her shoulders. "You know how it is.  You're shopping, you stop for a bite to eat and a little gossip, and the next thing you know..." She shrugged again. "But I didn't tell her about the baby - I swear it."

"They swooped down on me and insisted on holding the wedding at their place."

"Oh, goody!" Amanda said, her eyes sparkling. "They throw the _best_ parties."

"Yeah, well, Methos wasn't too thrilled about it," Duncan said sarcastically. "So while you're throwing things at my head, just remember that you have plenty to apologize for yourself."

Her eyes widened. "I just remembered urgent business back in Toronto, have to fly back tonight," she said, gathering her purse and slipping on her shoes.

"Oh, no you don't!" Duncan said, grabbing her coat and holding it out of her reach. "You're not getting out of this."

"Duncan," she whined. "You know what he's like when he's in a snit."

"Exactly," Duncan said, propelling her towards the door. "Which is why you're coming with me to help get me out of this mess."

"Oh, all right," she said crossly. "But if he comes after me with a sword, I expect you to defend me."

"Nope, but I promise I won't let him hurt you much. And there's going to be a doctor there as well," he said cheerfully.

"Thanks a lot," she grumbled, getting into the car. "See if I do you any more favors."

"I can only hope."

 

* * *

 

Methos and Joe were already sitting at a table when Duncan and Amanda entered, and Duncan was pleased to see that Richie was with them as well. The young Immortal looked relieved at their arrival.

"Mac, thank God!" Richie called out. "These two have been talking about nothing but _history_ for the past hour," he complained.

"History's important, Richie," Duncan said, but Richie just rolled his eyes. "So I take it you two found something interesting at the library?" He paused by Methos' chair to drop a kiss on his cheek and murmur, "I missed you."

"MacLeod!" Methos hissed, flushing under the indulgent looks from their friends.

"What?" Duncan asked, sitting down and taking Methos' hand in his. "I think these guys have already figured out we're an item."

"Well, the rest of Paris hasn't!" Methos retorted, gesturing around at the other tables. Although it was early, it was a Friday night and tables were rapidly filling.

"They're not paying us any attention," Duncan said. "And even if they were, it's Paris. You can hardly get any more gay-friendly than here. Besides, I'm not ashamed of loving you."

Methos flushed even more under the warmth in those brown eyes, mentally cursing his own fair complexion, and snatched his hand away before Duncan could do something more, like kiss it. "Yeah, well, forgive me if I don't choose to make a public spectacle of myself."

Duncan frowned slightly but he didn't pursue the matter further; it was something they'd have to talk about in private. Joe broke the suddenly uncomfortable silence to order another round of drinks, and Amanda valiantly threw herself on the altar of friendship.

"So, what's the latest news about the wedding?" she asked brightly. "I understand the Valincourts are going to be hosting it."

"Thanks to somebody's big mouth," Methos said sarcastically. "Did you remember to post the banns, Amanda? Take out a page in the 'Times' as well?"

Amanda shrugged nonchalantly, glad to have drawn the irascible Immortal's ire away from Duncan. "So I mentioned it to Gina? So what?"

" 'So what'? How about the fact that she's going to turn it into a _circus_!"

"It's okay," Duncan said, moving in to douse the flames. "I talked to Gina today and she's agreed to a small, intimate ceremony and reception. There'll be no more than fifty guests, a buffet dinner, a little dancing afterwards." He saw Methos begin to frown at the word 'dancing' and hastily added, "She wants Connor and me to wear full Highland dress."

That did it.  Methos' mouth curved up in amusement. "Oh, this I have to see! Duncan MacLeod in a skirt."

"It's not a skirt," he protested. "It's a kilt."

"Whatever," Methos said dismissively, then leered at his lover. "At least you have the legs for it, _daaaahling_."

Everyone laughed at that and Duncan said, "You're just jealous."

"Me? Jealous?" Methos scoffed. "I'll have you know that in my younger days, the sight of me in a chiton made all the women and most of the men in Athens faint from sheer ecstasy."

"Sheer horror, you mean," Duncan quipped. "Next you'll be telling us that you were a model for Greek sculptors."

"Well, as a matter of fact, I was too modest to mention it - "

Several hoots of laughter followed that pronouncement.

" - but if you'll check out some of them, you'll see a definite resemblance." Methos turned his profile, posing for them.

Duncan rolled his eyes. "So several thousand years ago a couple of deluded sculptors used you for a model So what? Doesn't change the fact that you're too chicken to show your legs in public _now_."

Methos' eyes narrowed. "You're up to something."

Duncan shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just that it's a tradition for the bride to wear a garter on her leg..."

"Since when did I get cast in the role of _bride_?" Methos retorted. "You're the one wearing a dress."

"But _you're_ the one who's knocked up," Duncan said with a grin. "Anyway, at the reception, the groom - that would be me - removes the garter from the bride's leg and tosses it to the male guests."

"Actually," Methos said, "there are several interesting stories about where that custom originated. Would anyone like to hear them?"

"No!" came a chorus of voices from around the table, followed by laughter.

Methos leaned an elbow on the table and stared at Duncan. "So let me get this straight. You want me to drop trou at the reception so you can throw a frilly lace thing at our intoxicated guests."

Duncan grinned and leaned on his elbow as well, his face a few inches away from Methos'. "You don't have to 'drop trou'. You should be able to pull up the tuxedo pants enough, depending on where you put the garter." He paused. "Unless you want to admit right now, in front of our friends, that I've got better legs than you."

"That'll be the day," Methos retorted.

"Then it's a deal?" Duncan asked. "You'll wear the garter."

Methos eyed his lover's face suspiciously. "You're up to something. I don't know what, but I'll figure it out, and when I do..."

"Chicken," Duncan whispered, and leaned even closer, his lips brushing Methos'.

"Deal," Methos murmured. He pressed a kiss against Duncan's lips, then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, putting on his best "lecture" face. "Although some sources say that the custom started in France, as an attempt by the bride to keep people from tearing off bits of her dress as lucky souvenirs - "

Groans and hoots from the others at the table briefly drowned out his words, but Methos raised his voice as he continued, "others believe the custom started in England and was originally called 'flinging the stocking'."

He suddenly paused, turning his head in the direction of the doorway, and Joe was amused to see three other heads turn in the same direction. He followed their gaze curiously, wondering what unlucky bastard had decided to come in here today, and then sat back in relief as he saw Julian Fremont pause on the threshold. Duncan, Methos, and Richie also relaxed, but Amanda let out a delighted squeal and launched herself across the room.

"Julian! You devil, what are you doing in Paris? Last thing I heard, you were in London."

Julian hugged her back. "I moved my practice here a couple years ago." He released her and smiled down at her as they walked back to the table. "Still as pretty as ever, and dare I guess that the recent jewelry theft in Italy was your doing?"

"Amanda!" Duncan said indignantly.

"What?" Amanda asked him, innocently. "A girl's got to keep her hand in, doesn't she?"

Joe gave the pair an amused look. "I take it you two know each other," he drawled.

Julian laughed and pulled up a chair next to Amanda's. "You could say that. About - what? - five hundred years ago while I was traveling around Europe, I stopped at a little inn where a pretty Immortal seduced me into her bed. Imagine my surprise when I woke the next morning to find that she was gone, along with my purse and my horse, and that she'd left me with the bill for the room."

Amanda grinned. "Imagine _my_ surprise when I dropped in to visit Rebecca and found this gentleman toasting his feet at her fireplace."

"Rebecca convinced me not to take her head, _and_ convinced Amanda to make it up to me." Julian's eyes gleamed. "Which she did, in a most satisfactory manner. It turned out to be quite an interesting visit."

Everyone laughed, and then Julian leaned over towards Methos, saying seriously, "How are you doing, old man?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Juls. Don't fuss."

"I won't, but I want to look at that cut."

Amanda's eyes widened. " _You're_ Methos' doctor?" At his affirmative nod, she said, "Then you know about this whole thing?"

"One of the few who did." Julian looked around the table and said, dryly, "Until recently."

"If you're going to look at it, you'd better do it now. Mac and I have to leave shortly," Methos said, standing up. "And I'd prefer to do this in the back room - OK, Joe?"

Joe nodded and they went off, then he looked across the table at Duncan. "What cut?"

Duncan sighed. "It was an accident."

"You cut Methos?" Richie asked, stunned by the thought that Duncan would harm the old Immortal.

"Of course not! Connor cut him, but it was an accident. I swear it."

"Where did he get cut?" Joe demanded. When Duncan gestured towards his left side, Joe snapped, "Damn it, Mac, you're supposed to be watching out for him!"

"I told you, it was an accident!" Duncan exploded. "Connor is _not_ hunting Methos, and Methos isn't even blaming him for it, all right? Can we _finally_ get past this, or do I need to run myself on my own sword in repentance?"

The other three exchanged a look. "It's okay, Duncan," Amanda said soothingly. "We know that you wouldn't willingly allow anything to happen to Methos. Don't we?" she asked, looking pointedly at Joe and Richie. They quickly assented, and then all of them turned to watch Methos and Julian returning to them.

"All healed," Julian said to Duncan.

Methos noticed the shared looks around the table and sighed. "I take it that everyone's up on the latest gossip? For the record, I accidentally ran myself onto Connor's sword, and the only reason he had it out was because I was playing a little joke on him. One that backfired, obviously. We're all friends now, so can we please get over this, and will everyone stop glaring at Mac. You're giving him a guilt complex, and I can definitely live without that."

Joe drew a deep breath. "Okay, if _you_ say so, old man. But you can't blame me if I want to keep you in one piece, at least till after the wedding. I take this Best Man stuff seriously."

Methos gave Duncan a mock-irritated look. "Blabbermouth. _I_ wanted to ask Joe."

Duncan grinned. "So ask him already. I just figured if I waited for you to get around to it, we'd be waiting till our son's wedding."

"Son?" Methos asked. "What makes you think it's a boy? It's a girl; I'm sure of it."

"Right, and how'd you figure that out? More of that 'ancient Immortal' knowledge? No, let me guess: you were a Seer in one of your previous identities."

"Guys," Joe interrupted. "Not that I don't like to hear you two argue, but did you have something you wanted to ask me?"

"Yes," Methos said, giving Duncan a last glare. "I'd like you to be my Best Man."

"Delighted," Joe said, with a grin.

"And I know it's not a current tradition, but since I can't exactly hide a sword under a tux, Julian, would you be my sword arm?"

Julian inclined his head. "I'd be honored."

"Well," Methos said briskly, "now that business is taken care of, I believe you promised to cook me dinner, Mac? I'm famished."

Duncan stood up, avoiding Amanda's amused eye. "Yes, I did, and if we don't get going now, it'll be midnight before we eat."

To a chorus of "good-nights", Duncan swept Methos out of the club and into his car. Once there, he reached out to pull Methos into his arms and kiss him.

"I've been wanting to do that for the past hour," he murmured when he finally released Methos' mouth.

Methos laughed softly against Duncan's shoulder. "First phone sex, now making out in a car in public! The depths of your depravity are truly shocking, MacLeod."

Duncan grinned and let go Methos so he could start the car. "You think so? You haven't seen anything yet, so prepare to be thoroughly debauched."

Methos gave a shout of laughter. "Only _you_ would issue a warning like that!" And he laughed all the way back to the barge, but Duncan didn't mind. He liked the sound of the other man's laughter. He liked it a lot.


	25. Chapter 25

 

Methos' laughter ended as they entered the barge. In silence, he took in the table decoration, then turned to look at Duncan, who was relieved to see a twinkle in his eyes, even as an eyebrow arched upward. "Why, Duncan MacLeod! China, crystal, flowers - if I didn't know better, I'd think you had designs on my virtue."

Duncan snorted and took his coat, hanging it up. "Good thing you don't have any then, isn't it?"

Methos laughed. "You mean, good thing for _you_. So what's the reason for all this?"

"What? I can't put together a _nice_ dinner without raising your suspicions?"

Methos considered that for a moment. "Not really, no."

Duncan made a face at him. "Just for that, you don't get to see what's for dessert."

Methos smirked. "You, I hope."

"You're impossible." Duncan pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and held it out to Methos. "You just go sit down over there and relax while I finish cooking."

"By all means. I make it a point never to get between a man and his oven." Methos saluted him and headed for the couch.

Duncan watched him in amusement, fully expecting to see the older Immortal sprawl out  with his usual abandonment. He was surprised when Methos opened his duffle bag instead and began sorting through a stack of mail.

Fascinated as always by the sight of this man doing even mundane chores like reading his mail, Duncan surreptitiously watched him. The play of emotions over Methos' face as he worked, apparently unaware that he was being watched, held Duncan's attention. Irritation at something that looked like a sales pitch - the glossy flyer made a rather attractive ball as Methos wadded it up and tossed it into the fireplace. Amusement tinged with a condescending curl of the lip over a clipping from some professional journal - Duncan almost expected to hear a rant over what passed for research these days. Boredom as bills were flicked back into the open bag, no doubt to be settled later.

And then Methos picked up a letter in a long envelope with some sort of crest on the outside, turning it over in his hands before tearing it open. Duncan watched as surprise and pleasure washed over those expressive features, swiftly followed by resignation so palpable that Duncan had to cling tightly to the counter to keep from rushing across the room to fold Methos in his arms. And then the mask came down, shuttering Methos' emotions behind its cool exterior, making Duncan doubt what he'd seen.

Methos drained the bottle in his hands and got up to throw it away as he said, with apparent lightness, "I'm going up for a breath of air before dinner."

Duncan was across the room and pulling the letter out of the bag before the door had fully closed behind Methos, not even debating the ethics of snooping.  He unfolded the letter, noting with surprise that it was on letterhead from a prestigious American university, and glanced at the heading.

_Dear Dr. Pierson_

The rest of the letter was a blur of letters and words that made no sense to Duncan at the moment. The only thing clear was the salutation, three words that stood out in bold black against the creamy off-white of the heavy stationary.

_Dear Dr. Pierson_

Duncan sank down numbly onto the couch, not exactly sure why the realization that Methos had finished his degree, no doubt only one of many over the centuries, hit him so hard. After all, it wasn't like he had any right to know all the little details about his lover's life - only this wasn't a little detail. Not to him, at any rate. And he doubted it was a little detail to Methos, either. So why hadn't Methos told him?

Duncan glanced back down at the letter again, reading over the quietly effusive wording - "pleasure meeting you last month", "impressive catalog of publications for one so young", and "honored to welcome you as a member of our faculty" fairly leaping off the page at him. Another little detail - and when, exactly, was Methos going to mention to him that he had accepted a faculty position at this university? Then he remembered the look on Methos' face as he had read this letter, the wistfulness, and knew Methos intended to turn down the job offer.

Holding the letter in his hand, Duncan headed up to the deck. He found Methos standing at the rail, staring out over the Seine. The sun was setting and a slight breeze was ruffling Methos' lengthening hair as he stood watching the traffic on the river. He didn't even look around when Duncan came up beside him.

"Dr. Pierson, I presume?"

Methos' lips twisted but Duncan couldn't tell if it was with amusement or irritation because the mask was firmly in place. "You know, some people would consider a man's mail private."

Duncan ignored the comment, holding up the letter in question. "When did this happen?"

Methos sighed and turned around, leaning his back against the rail. "I interviewed with them a month ago, after... Never thought I'd get it. There were hundreds of candidates."

"Of course they'd want you," Duncan said, affronted at the idea that anyone, even a faceless groups of academics, wouldn't immediately recognize his lover's worth. "They'd be idiots to turn down what you've got to offer."

Genuine amusement twisted Methos' lips then as he said, with Adam Pierson's habitual diffidence, "You're prejudiced in my favor, Mac."

"So?" He leaned against the railing next to Methos. "The timing of this is unfortunate."

Methos snorted. "Unfortunate? Mac, 'unfortunate' is when you get a puncture in the rain. They want me start at Fall term, by which time I'll look like I swallowed a soccer ball. The bloody timing couldn't be worse."

"What if you told them that you were committed to something else right now but could start at the Winter term?"

Methos gave him an incredulous look. "They may be impressed by 'Adam Pierson's' record, but not _that_ impressed. It's not like I have the kind of reputation that allows me to dictate terms. Besides," he said, looking back over the water. "I wasn't seriously considering it."

"You were a month ago," Duncan said quietly. "Weren't you?" Methos said nothing and Duncan felt his gut tighten. "You would have taken this and left Paris without a word, and I never would have seen you again."

Methos sighed. "At the time, I thought it would be for the best. We were barely speaking. Getting out of Paris seemed like a good idea."

"Without telling any of us?"

"I would have told Joe. He might have told you, if you'd asked."

Duncan's lips twisted at that. "As protective as Joe gets over you, he'd probably have handed me my head." He straightened suddenly. "He knows about this, doesn't he?"

Methos frowned. "How could he? I just got the letter."

Duncan shook his head. "Not that. The degree. He knows you finished it. He's known for some time." He watched as Methos looked away from him, and the earlier hurt about not knowing this detail of his lover's life returned. "Why didn't you tell me you'd finished your doctorate?"

"Jacob Galati."

Duncan blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Methos sighed and turned back towards him, "I was defending my dissertation during the Watcher mess. When they told me I'd gotten it...well, by that time you weren't talking to me."

Duncan looked away, remembering all too well the clash of their beliefs, that Methos had been willing to sacrifice another Immortal to save Duncan's life. Funny that the whole ugly business had made him realize just how important he was to the oldest Immortal, even if Duncan had turned his back on Methos in response. "I'm sorry."

Methos shrugged. "Wasn't much of a celebration in any event. Joe and I went out and got plastered, then I quit the Watchers and packed up, left Paris for awhile."

"I know. Joe came to see me, said your place was empty and you were gone."

"I don't suppose you were surprised," Methos said dryly, and Duncan flushed at the memory of saying just about that when Joe told him. Of course, Duncan and Joe weren't talking much then, either. Finding out that Methos had disappeared again had been par for the course.

He turned his head and studied Methos' profile and said, softly, "I'm glad you came back."

"Are you, Mac?" Methos said, equally soft, turning so his eyes could meet Duncan's.

Duncan knew what he meant. Not too long after Methos' reemergence in Seacouver, Kronos had turned up and the friendship between Duncan and Methos had changed forever, first destroyed by the revelations about Methos' past and then reborn into this new relationship between them. And Duncan knew that, no matter how dark things had been at times, he wouldn't change the end result for anything.

He smiled and lifted his hand to gently trace Methos' cheek with his fingertips. "Aye. Very glad." He leaned forward to kiss Methos and was surprised when the other man pulled back, away from his kiss. "Methos? What's wrong? Why don't you want me to kiss you in public?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Methos tried to move away but Duncan wouldn't let him.

"Yes, you do. It can't be because you're afraid of gay-bashers."

"Even Paris isn't completely safe."

"And it wouldn't be pleasant to be hassled but we'd survive. Neither of us has family or jobs to protect. Surely it's not because of the Watchers?" The way that Methos stiffened made him realize he'd hit it on the nose. "It is. You're worried about Watchers seeing us together. Afraid of how this will look in our Chronicles?"

Methos glared at him and pulled away. "It's not just being seen. There are things called _cameras_. Video recorders. And believe me, you do _not_ want to know the kinds of pictures that get passed around among Watchers," he said darkly.

Duncan reached out to snag Methos' arm, pulling him tightly against his body. "I always knew the Watchers were a bunch of Peeping Toms. So what kind of pictures are we talking about? Erotic or pornographic? Distance shots or close-ups? With some of us they'd have to use a wide-angle lens to capture everything."

"This from the man who was embarrassed when Joe caught him talking dirty on the phone," Methos snorted. "Not too proud of your equipment, are you?"

"What, worried you won't measure up in comparison?" Duncan teased, bending his head to nuzzle at Methos' neck.

Methos moaned and involuntarily tilted his head to the side. "No, just hate to destroy all those Watcher illusions about you."

Duncan chuckled. "I haven't heard any complaints."

"That's because I'm kind-hearted - ow! You _bit_ me!"

"You shouldn't insult me when I'm hungry." Duncan licked the bite and felt Methos shiver as his tongue teased the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. "Should we give them something really good for their scrapbooks?"

Methos snorted. "What, a picture of us being hauled off to jail for public lewdness?"

"I don't know. Just how lewd were you planning to be?"

" _I'm_ not the one assaulting his lover in public," Methos pointed out.

"More's the pity." Duncan pressed a brief, almost chaste kiss on Methos' mouth before releasing him. "Very well. We'll go inside, in deference to the delicate sensibilities of my blushing bride - "

"One more word and I toss you over the side into the river," Methos threatened.

" - and the fact that dinner will be ruined if we don't eat right now."

Duncan led the way towards the stairs, then paused and turned back to his lover. He reached out and touched Methos' face, lightly tracing his lips. "But just for the record, although I prefer to have our privacy respected, I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you or ashamed of what we do together. And if that means the Watchers will have pictures of me making love to you all over their walls, so be it."

Methos' eyes widened and his breath caught at the intensity of the love in Duncan's eyes. "Mac," he said hoarsely, then, "What the hell, might as well give them a good picture." He threw his arms around Duncan's neck, kissing him passionately.

Duncan was stunned and delighted, and wrapped his arms around Methos, returning his kiss with enthusiasm. It was with extreme reluctance that he released Methos, brushing a kiss over his mouth at the involuntary protest.

"Dinner, remember?"

Methos groaned and dropped his forehead on Duncan's shoulder. "Can't we just skip dinner and go right to bed?"

"After all the trouble I went to?" Duncan asked indignantly and headed back inside. "Wash up. Dinner will be ready in a minute."

Methos sighed and rolled his eyes but followed his lover inside. Duncan was already puttering around the kitchen so Methos decided it might be a good idea to get out of his way for a few minutes. Besides, he owed it to Duncan to freshen up a bit before dinner, so he grabbed his bag and went into the bathroom.

By the time he came back out, the room was filled with delicious scents and the lighting had been turned low to allow the candles on the table to dominate the scene. Soft music was playing, something light and jazzy. Duncan was serving dinner and looked up with a smile.

"There you are. I thought I was going to have to send in a search party." The words were teasing but way that Duncan's eyes traveled over his body made Methos glad he'd made the effort to change. "I hope you're hungry."

"Starved," Methos said, taking his seat. "This looks delicious, Mac."

Duncan frowned. "Didn't Joe feed you?"

"Truthfully, I didn't want to eat then. I was feeling a bit off colour." As Duncan looked over at him in alarm, Methos said quickly, "It's all right, Mac, just a little nausea. Julian upped my meds a bit and that did the trick, so there's no need to go into protective overdrive."

"I don't like it," Duncan said with a frown. "I don't recall Anne being this sick with Mary."

"Different people, different reactions," Methos said with a shrug. "One of my wives - my twenty-fifth, I think - was sick the entire time she was pregnant. Thank God she only had the one or I would have faked my death earlier."

"I thought that was the seventeenth."

"No, that was the one who threw pottery," Methos said patiently. "You've got to pay closer attention, Mac. What's the point of imparting my hard-gained wisdom if you don't listen?"

Duncan snorted. "Right. I thought you didn't dispense words of wisdom."

Methos grinned. "Nah. I just told the kid that to get up his nose."

"And a charming picture that is," Duncan murmured. He picked up a bottle of wine and poured some into Methos' glass. "Try this. I thought it would go well with the chicken."

Methos gave him a look of mock surprise. "What, you're letting me off the wagon? Should I be checking you for a head injury?"

"One glass shouldn't hurt," Duncan said, filling his own glass. "And it just didn't seem appropriate to toast our future over sparkling grape juice or water." He lifted his glass.

Methos smiled and raised his own glass, tapping it against Duncan's. "To the future, then."

"The future," Duncan said softly, locking eyes with Methos. "May every day be better than the last, with more sunshine than rain."

Methos drew in a shaky breath. "Then we better steer clear of Paris and Seacouver," he said, in an attempt at humor.

"Methos," Duncan said softly, setting down his glass and reaching over to take Methos' hand in his. "Don't."

Methos let his fingers curl around Duncan's. "Automatic reaction," he said quietly. "I've got a lot of them, Mac. They're what's kept me alive and sane over the past few millennia."

"I know," Duncan said, squeezing Methos' hand before releasing it. "And I know I haven't made it easier on you over the past few years."

Methos gave him a mock-glare. "You're not going to go all guilty on me, are you? There's nothing more certain to kill a seduction."

Duncan couldn't help grinning at that, willing to let the somber moment go for now. "Still think I'm trying to seduce you?"

"Music, candlelight, flowers, wine - and you think I might be overreacting?" Methos said with amused sarcasm.

"Maybe I'm not doing this to get you into bed, although I certainly hope we'll be doing that later," Duncan said, sipping at his wine again. "Maybe I just want to show you how special you are to me. But if it makes you  uncomfortable..."

Methos groaned and closed his eyes. "Mac...Duncan. I'm sorry. It's just...it's been a long time since anyone wined and dined me without an ulterior motive. I'll try to stifle the sarcasm and be a more appreciative partner."

The feel of fingertips running down his cheek made Methos open his eyes to find Duncan leaning closer, smiling at him. "Actually, I like the sarcasm. You wouldn't be the irascible bastard I fell in love with without it."

"Yeah?" Methos smiled back.

"Yeah. It's the suspicion I can do without,  for tonight, at least." Duncan leaned over to kiss him. "Now eat your dinner and drink your wine."

"Yes, dear," Methos said with a smirk as he started on the chicken breast.

Duncan rolled his eyes at that. "Dear?"

"You prefer 'darling' or 'sweet-cheeks' or 'sugar-lumps'?"

"Sugar-lumps? You'd actually call me that in public?"

"Just to see you squirm?  Yes.  Mac, this is delicious.  What did you put in the sauce?"

"Arsenic, but only in your portion. You'll be squirming if you call me that in front of Joe."

"Oooh, Duncan! More public lewdness?" Methos said teasingly.

"Think of it more in the nature of a threat."

"I don't know, Mac. Something like this is too good to keep to myself."

"Then maybe a bribe would work better." Duncan had placed the wrapped book on one of the unused dining chairs, knowing that the tablecloth would keep the inquisitive Immortal from seeing it. Now he held it out.

"What's this?"

"Something I picked up. I thought you might like it better than an engagement ring."

Methos took the wrapped object and pulled off the brightly colored wrapping paper. Then he stared at the leather-bound tome in his hands in open-mouthed amazement. "Mac!" he breathed. "I've been looking for this copy for a long time.  How did you know?"

Duncan smiled, pleased at the response. "You mentioned it a couple months back."

"I said I was looking for this book. I never said anything about this specific copy." Methos' hands lovingly caressed the outside before carefully opening it and tracing the inscription on the flyleaf.  It brought back memories of an ocean voyage made bearable - no, more than bearable - by the amusing stories of one of his fellow passengers. "How did you find it?"

"I have connections still, as does Connor, and a while back I asked a couple them to keep a lookout for any old or unusual books. One of them came across this in estate sale and called me. When I heard the dedication, I knew this had to belong to you."

"It must have cost you a fortune," Methos murmured, still running his fingers over the page.

Duncan shrugged. "I got a fair price for it but I would have paid twice as much. I thought it would be a crime for anyone other than you to own it." He grinned. "Besides, the furs and emeralds would have cost a lot more."

"Ah, I should have known," Methos said, nodding. "Another example of Scottish thrift."

"Exactly." The music changed and Duncan stood up. "Now put down your new toy and come dance with me."

"Well, when you ask me like that..." Methos carefully set down the book, away from any potential accidents, and stood up. He moved into Duncan's arms easily, kissing him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Duncan said softly. "You really knew Mark Twain?"

Methos grinned. "Knew him? I'll have you know that I was the inspiration for several of his stories, especially  - "

Duncan silenced him with a kiss. "Shut up and dance."

Methos laughed.  Duncan felt him settle easily into his arms as they danced together. Truthfully, it really couldn't be called dancing as there were no recognizable steps, just a slow swaying of their bodies together to the music, but Duncan didn't mind.  It just felt good to hold Methos close, as if for this one moment they could stand outside of time.

He sighed contentedly and turned his head to kiss Methos' cheek. He could feel the curve of skin under his lips and knew that the other man was smiling. "What?" he asked softly.

"Nothing. I'm easily amused."

Duncan grinned. "That explains a lot." He kissed Methos. "By the way, Gina wants to know what 'our song' is for our first dance."

Methos lifted his head and grinned at Duncan. "Yeah? What did you tell her?"

"I didn't. I decided to give that job to you."

Methos snorted. "Coward."

"You keep telling me that discretion is the better part of valor. Can I help it if I decided that it would be more discreet to let you pick out the song instead of having you kill me in the middle of our reception?"

"All right, but I don't want any complaints about my choice."

"I won't complain, as long as I get to hold you close like this."

Methos replied to that with another kiss. "Agreed, but I get to lead."

"You? I thought you were the bride. The garter, remember?"

"Yeah, but you're the one in the skirt."

"Kilt."

"Whatever. And if I'm doing the garter, that means _you_ have to throw the bouquet."

"Damn. Can we renegotiate? I've seen women kill to get the bouquet."

"Nope," Methos said smugly. "You made me agree to show off my legs for that damn garter so you're stuck - sugar-lumps."

"I thought I bribed you to forget that one."

Methos grinned. "Obviously bribes don't go as far as they used to." He nuzzled Duncan's neck. "Of course, you could sweeten the pot a little. I've been known to forget things after I've had my brains drilled out."

"And this from the man who was incensed because he thought I was trying to seduce him."

"I didn't say I was _incensed_. I like to know what I'm getting into. Or who's getting into me."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."

"And yet you love me," he said smugly.

"Yeah," Duncan said seriously. "I do."

Methos stopped moving, forcing Duncan to stop as well. "Damn," he said with a shaky voice. "Do you know what you do to me when you say that?"

Duncan lifted one of Methos' hands to his lips. "Good things, I hope."

"You make me believe the impossible, Duncan MacLeod. That we just might be able to survive this with a minimum of damage."

Duncan chuckled. "With an optimistic outlook like that, how can we not?"

Methos kissed Duncan, fiercely. "Take me to bed, Mac. Make love to me until I'm too exhausted to think and too hoarse to talk."

Either the words or the kisses or a combination of them both lit a fever in Duncan's blood. Clothes were torn off and thrown aside with little regard for future use. Skin was kissed and caressed, licked and bitten. Sounds filled the darkened room as candles guttered and went out, breathless gasps of pleasure and frenzied cries of passion mixing with the soft jazz playing on the stereo. Hands stroked with gentle passion and fingers probed with brutal tenderness. Bodies joined in blissful heat, taking and giving with equal abandon, until the pleasure was too much for flesh to contain and had to be released.

"Bloody hell," Methos murmured when he was able to convince his vocal chords to work again. "I won't be able to walk for a week."

"Good," Duncan said with a chuckle as he maneuvered them onto their sides, Methos wrapped in his arms with his head on Duncan's chest. "I like the idea of you stuck in my bed for awhile." They were both sweaty and sticky and could use a shower, but the sated heaviness of Methos' body told him that he'd have better luck convincing Methos to take a sea cruise than a shower right now. Not that he minded, really. It was oddly comforting to have the other man silent and still in his arms.

Not that Methos was completely out of it. Duncan looked down at the face resting on his chest and saw that slight crease between the eyes and sighed. "You're thinking again."

"Sorry." Methos turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss against Duncan's chest. "Habit, I suppose."

Duncan's heart ached, knowing that under other circumstances that busy brain would be searching for escape routes, wary of being trapped. He tightened his hold on his lover and tried to distract him. "Do you think your Watcher friends got some good pictures tonight? Hope they captured my best side."

Methos chuckled and Duncan could feel him relax. "I'll see if Joe can get us copies."

"Good," Duncan said. He stroked Methos' hair gently, using a rhythm that would soothe the other man into slumber. "I wonder if they do weddings. Save us the price of a photographer."

"Cheap Scottish bastard."

"Thrifty. They're going to be there anyways, so why not put them to good use? Besides, I need all my money to keep you in furs and jewelry and books, remember?"

"Right." Methos yawned and snuggled in. "But they're not invited on the honeymoon." His voice was a barely audible mutter.

"No," Duncan said softly, cradling the sleeping Immortal against his side. "No, they're not. Just you and me, love. Just you and me."  

 


	26. Chapter 26

 

Duncan lay on his side, watching the early morning light play over his sleeping lover's face. It was one of the times he liked best, a chance to see the man he'd been at First Death without the camouflage this living chameleon put on. When he could watch Methos without the other man watching him back.

Young - that was always his first thought. Like his cousin, Connor, Methos hadn't had a chance to achieve full maturity before death although neither one of them had let that keep them from becoming fighters to be reckoned with. Even though Duncan had bested Methos in many of their spars, he had always had the impression the other man wasn't fighting to his full potential, that he was holding something back. And having caught glimpses of Methos fighting Silas, he had known he was right. Methos might not have brute strength but he was dangerously fast and lethally cunning. Duncan only hoped that was good enough to keep him alive for a long time.

Which brought Amanda's words to mind, that Methos should be taken to Holy Ground as soon as possible. He had to admit she was right; they couldn't afford to take any chances. Duncan made a mental note to contact people he knew to look for some likely properties, and expected Methos had his own contacts as well. Hell, Methos might even own someplace, even though he hadn't mentioned it so far. In fact, he'd be surprised if Methos didn't have a lot of bolt holes, the only question being were they close enough to Julian and were they suitable for children.

He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling. That brought his own properties into mind and, as he considered them, he admitted none were ideal for a family. The barge was definitely too small for more than a couple. The loft was the same, with the possibility of expansion on the lower floors but the location left a lot to be desired for a family with a young child. The island was cozy enough for occasional trip, and he smiled as he imagined teaching his son or daughter about living with nature, but it would need renovations for long-term habitation. Most of all, it lacked social necessities: though they could handle the educational side of their child's upbringing, children needed to be around others.

Duncan looked over at the sleeping man and realized they needed to have a serious talk about their future, both immediate and long-term. It had been too easy so far just to drift. Hell, he'd been too uncertain of his standing with Methos to push him and he was still walking on eggshells. He'd let Methos think it was because he was worried about how upsetting Methos would affect the pregnancy, but the truth was he was afraid Methos would leave him. In the back of his mind, he knew he had been stalling, waiting till he had Methos committed to him before he risked angering him by discussing any potentially volatile issues.

His lips twisted in a grimace. As if a ceremony and a piece of paper, one that wasn't even legally recognized in either of their home countries, would bind Methos if he decided to walk!  Or was he being unfair again? Methos had spent ten years with the Watchers, worn their symbol and followed their rules, as much as it was possible for an Immortal, and Duncan had witnessed how distressed he'd been when those two worlds had come into conflict, how hard it had been for Methos to just walk away from the Watchers. The old Immortal had disappeared for months afterward to God knew where, although Joe probably had a good idea, even if he didn't choose to share it with Duncan.

Duncan frowned at the slight spurt of anger he felt about that. Was it possible that he was jealous of Methos' friendship with Joe? Not only possible but probable, he admitted to himself. He'd dismissed it in the early days of their friendship as possessiveness of Joe as _his_ friend and Methos as _his_ discovery, but when he sat back and looked at it honestly, he knew he was jealous. What Methos and Joe had was a deep and uncomplicated friendship - well, not as complicated as his relationship with either of the men - and genuine affection.

He snorted.  Why not just say the word? Love. The kind of love that allowed them to bicker and needle each other, without fear that a word said wrong would shatter what they had. The kind of love that had survived the revelation that "Adam Pierson" had been a deception without shattering the foundations of their friendship. The kind of love that hadn't suffered a noticeable tremor when Methos' former student and Joe's protégé had collided so disastrously. The kind of love that had made Joe take up verbal arms in Methos' defense when the truth about the old Immortal's past with the Horseman had emerged. Joe hadn't had a moment of doubt about Methos and it wasn't because the Watcher's morals were lax. It was because Joe knew and trusted Methos on a soul-deep level, in a way that Duncan, for all his protestations of love, had yet to achieve.

Damn straight he was jealous!

And ashamed. The picture of the two of them, Joe and Methos, going on a drinking spree to celebrate Adam Pierson's doctorate was overlaid with the knowledge that there had been as much grief as joy in that celebration. Duncan had abandoned both of them. They had each decided to leave the Watchers, leaving behind friends and associates of many years, something due in no small part to Duncan's attitude towards the organization. And the man that had spurred each of them to this decision hadn't even been there to offer his support and friendship.

Thinking back, he was glad that both men had given him a second chance, and supremely grateful that Methos had given him a third one following the Horsemen debacle. He wondered how many more chances Methos would give him if he screwed this one up and shuddered, deciding that he didn't want to find out.

Methos muttered in his sleep and Duncan smiled as he realized that the other man was waking up. He scooted closer, sliding a hand down his lover's exposed arm.

"Don't touch me."

The words were almost growled, and Duncan drew back his hand. "What?"

Methos' eyes were shut tight, his jaw clenched, as he ground out, "Don't touch me, unless you want to wear last night's dinner."

"Oh. Sorry." Duncan eased out of bed, careful not to jostle it, and went into the kitchen to get juice and crackers. "Pills?" he asked.

"Coat pocket."

Duncan fetched the bottle of pills and tipped out one, then took the items up to the bed. Methos hadn't moved, obviously fighting the nausea by lying still. Duncan stuck a straw in the glass and held it to Methos' lips so that the other man wouldn't have to move.

"Here. Take a sip - slowly." Once Methos had taken a few sips, Duncan pushed the pill between his lips and gave him more juice to wash it down with. "Better?"

"It will be," Methos managed to say, eyes still closed. "Sorry."

Duncan settled carefully on the bed next to Methos. "For what?"

"This isn't the most romantic way to start a morning," Methos said.

"No," Duncan admitted. "But it's real." His smile broadened as Methos gave him a surprised look. "And I'll take real over romance."

"You're a continual surprise to me, Mac," Methos said, aiming for lightness but knowing the catch in his voice betrayed him. Fortunately, Duncan didn't seem inclined to push.

"Think you can manage a cracker?" Duncan asked, opening the box he'd bought the previous day and pulling out a couple of wafers.

Methos sighed and shifted slightly so that he was partly propped up on pillows. "This is a real bitch, MacLeod," he complained.

"And it's my fault, yes, I know," Duncan said, amused as always by his complaints. "That record is worn out, old man; get a new one."

Methos glared at him but accepted the crackers and started slowly eating them. "What, not going to brood?"

"As you've said: 'been there, done that, bought and burned the T-shirt'," Duncan said with a shrug. "And if I sat around brooding instead of doing something useful, you'd have your head in the toilet and I'd be changing linens again."

Methos smirked. "I didn't think you minded changing sheets."

"For _pleasurable_ reasons, no, but not because you tossed your cookies in them," Duncan retorted. "Methos, despite your reassurances, this just doesn't seem _normal_."

Methos sighed. "Mac, the whole situation isn't _normal_ but this may just be typical for a pregnant male Immortal. If it'll make you feel better, we can talk to Julian about it."

"Okay." Duncan smiled at Methos and reached over to brush the hair away from his forehead. "Feel up to a shower yet?"

A small smile touched the other Immortal's mouth. "Are you saying that I reek?"

Duncan grinned. "Not in so many words. However, in another five minutes I may become desperate enough to open a few windows."

Methos gave Duncan a two-finger salute as he dragged his body out of bed and into the bathroom. He started the water as he brushed his teeth to get rid of the taste of bile at the back of his throat, then stepped into the shower.

He wasn't at all surprised when another body joined him in the shower and didn't even try to restrain an amused smile. "I wondered how long it would be before you missed me."

Duncan wrapped his arms around Methos and pressed a kiss against his damp shoulder. "Don't think much of yourself, do you? How do you get your head through doorways?"

"It's not _that_ head that's a problem."

Duncan slid a hand down over the still-flat abdomen and traced his lover's erect shaft. "The curse of the well-endowed. I know it well."

Methos snorted at that and bucked in the light grip surrounding his cock. "Less bragging, more action, MacLeod."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Duncan commented as he continued to tease his lover with a stroke that was looser than Methos needed.

Methos turned in his arms and pressed Duncan against the shower wall, his eyes glinting with amusement and arousal. "If we're going to talk about _bitches._ "

Duncan grinned at him. "Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty."

Methos chuckled and undulated against him while his lips ghosted over Duncan's. "Your fan club would be shocked and appalled to learn that their fearless leader has such a kinky streak," he said teasingly.

"And are _you_ shocked and appalled?"

Methos raised his head and met Duncan's eyes, surprised that he was seriously asking. The knowledge that Duncan enjoyed something less vanilla in his slap-and-tickle sessions wasn't a surprise: sex with Amanda pretty much guaranteed it. But that he was willing to explore it with him, well, Methos had to draw in a deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heart.

"Nothing much shocks me, Mac."

He nuzzled Duncan's neck and then bit him sharply, noting the moan and shiver. "No, I'm just intrigued. How kinky are we talking? Am I going to find a hidden stash of sex toys? Snaps of you dressed in Amanda's knickers and suspenders?"

Duncan scowled. "If you're going to get nasty about it, I'm out of here."

"You're not going anywhere." There was steel in Methos' voice and in the muscles that pulled Duncan back and spun him around so that his chest was pressed against the wall. "Not until I'm finished with you."

Duncan shivered again, this time with anticipation, and bucked against Methos just enough to confirm that the other man intended to hold him here. Not that he couldn't get away if he really wanted to. He knew all it would take was him saying "No" and Methos would let him go. And he didn't want to engage in a serious wrestling match here, where slippery tile could be a fatal hazard to either of them, although he anticipated future encounters where he could seriously pit his strength against Methos'. For now it was enough to know that Methos intended to play out this game the way Duncan wanted to.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Methos' eyes gleamed with a feral fire and he leaned forward to murmur in Duncan's ear. "I'm going to fuck your arse until you scream. And you're going to spread your legs like the tart you are and beg me for it." He bit Duncan's earlobe hard, drawing a little blood.

"Shit!" The sudden pain made the adrenaline surge through Duncan's body and he was harder than he could remember being in ages. "In your dreams!"

Methos' tongue was licking the wound he'd inflicted and the feeling of his tongue pressed against healing flesh made Duncan shiver. "Oh, you'd like my dreams, Highlander, but you'll like reality even more."

He shifted slightly, just enough to allow him to thrust a knee between Duncan's legs to force them apart. His upper body kept Duncan firmly pinned and his mouth moved down to torment Duncan's neck and shoulders. His hands skimmed up and down Duncan's body, not in the usual gentle, teasing touches but in rougher caresses as if forcing a reaction from his captive. Duncan moaned under the assault and felt rather than heard the chuckle against his skin.

"You're such a whore, MacLeod." A finger slick with bath oil breached his body and Duncan moaned again, pressing back for more. "A slut who'll bend over and take my cock whenever I say. This arse belongs to me now."

"Never," Duncan gasped. "Do your worst, but you'll never own me."

Methos paused as he positioned his cock at Duncan's opening. " 'Do your worst'? Who writes your material, Mac? I haven't heard that one in a century!"

"Shut up and fuck me!" Duncan growled and pressed back against him, forcing his entry.

Methos gasped at the surprise of finding himself suddenly encased in Duncan's flesh, then collected himself and settled in for the pounding Duncan obviously wanted. Duncan was moaning, one hand working on his own cock, which was a relief as Methos was fully occupied with holding onto his writhing captive and staying upright as he thrust in and out of his lover's body. His body was tightening with delicious ecstasy and it was with relief that he heard his lover shout his own climax. Methos surrendered to the demands of his body, surging into Duncan a few more times before he gave in to his orgasm.

Methos collapsed against Duncan's back, grateful for the warmth against his chest as he became aware of the cooling water along his back. He felt Duncan's body shaking under his and grinned as he realized it was with suppressed mirth. "Someone's feeling better now," he murmured, kissing Duncan's skin.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have an abysmal sense of timing?" Duncan complained. "Stopping to bitch about my lines?"

Methos grinned. "Couldn't help it. I suddenly felt like I should have a handlebar mustache to twirl." He eased out of Duncan's body with a sigh and heard an echo of that sigh from his lover. "And on another, slightly related topic, have you ever thought about getting a larger water tank. It's bloody _freezing_ in here ."

Duncan turned around and took Methos in his arms. "I'll warm you up," he said, kissing the older Immortal soundly.

"That sounds promising," Methos murmured, kissing him back.

"Mmm," Duncan said, releasing Methos and reaching for the washcloth. "A warm breakfast and some hot herbal tea will take off that chill." He wiped them both down quickly and turned off the water.

"Not exactly what I was hoping for," Methos complained as he followed Duncan out

"Live with it," Duncan replied, grabbing a thick towel and rubbing the other man down briskly, then pulling his own bathrobe off the back of the door to wrap Methos up in. Methos made a face but Duncan ignored him, turning toward the sink to brush his teeth and shave.

"Speaking of water heaters," Duncan said as he spread lather, "I've been thinking, and the one in your place isn't much bigger."

Methos nodded as he leaned against the wall. "I noticed it was oddly unable to provide enough hot water for shared showers, although it seems perfectly adequate when I shower alone."

"So the answer is either to go back to solo showers or get a bigger tank."

Duncan carefully began shaving and nearly slit his throat when Methos said casually, "Or move into a bigger place together." Duncan turned and caught Methos grinning at him. "Come on, Mac. Do you think I'm blind? There are papers from estate agents all over the table."

"Amanda brought them," he said defensively.

Methos' eyes narrowed. "And just why is dear Amanda house-hunting for us? Planning on letting rooms to your extended family?"

Duncan sighed as he rinsed off his razor and wiped the remaining foam off his face. "Of course not. Amanda's just concerned about your safety, that's all. She says it's because she feels more...hopeful, knowing there are Old Ones still around, but I think it has something to do with Rebecca." He hung up the towel and looked over at Methos. "Did you know her?"

"Rebecca?" Methos asked with a deceptively innocent tone and shrugged. "I may have met her once or twice over the years. Nothing that would concern Our Amanda."

"Maybe it's because Rebecca was interested in the 'myth' of Immortals having children," Duncan said speculatively. "And Amanda feels obligated to look after you for her."

"Or maybe Amanda just wants to poke her inquisitive little nose into everyone else's business," Methos said impatiently. "Look, can we talk about something other than Amanda?"

Duncan suppressed a grin at Methos' display of jealousy, feeling slightly better for his own earlier - and admittedly irrational - jealousy of Joe. "Of course," he said, leading the way into the kitchen. "What do you feel like for breakfast? After that little display in the bathroom, I can safely assume your stomach has settled."

"It would settle better over coffee."

"Nice try but no sale," Duncan said, pulling out a box of herbal tea. Methos made a face but settled against a counter to watch Duncan make breakfast. Silence had settled between them, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence and neither man seemed eager to break it.

It wasn't until they were seated at the table with their plates that Duncan broached the subject of housing again. "I've been thinking over my properties and I realized none of them are really suitable. They're all too small, for one thing, and neither the loft nor the island is in a desirable location for children. And raising a child on this barge is asking for disaster." Methos said nothing so Duncan prodded him. "What about you?"

Methos shrugged. "Adam Pierson doesn't own any property except a cottage in Wales left to him by his parents. Too far from London for our purposes, although it _is_ on Holy Ground, and currently let to a nice old couple. I have a few other pieces of property, held in other names, scattered about. One is a largish place in London, very des res, but too much in the middle of things for our current purposes. The neighbors would certainly notice a pregnant man, so that's out unless I become a recluse."

"It might be good for later, after the baby's born," Duncan mused. "Depending, of course, on where Adam Pierson ends up landing a job."

Methos gave him a startled look. "Mac, I told you I was turning down that offer."

"I heard you," Duncan said. "But if they were that eager to get you, then there are bound to be other colleges and universities just as interested. Say, in a year's time, after we've had a chance to get adjusted to life with a baby."

Methos' eyes narrowed as he studied his lover. "And when I take a position at this fictional university? Where will _you_ be?"

"With you, of course," Duncan said, matter-of-factly.

"Doing what?"

Duncan shrugged. "Depends. I could go back into the antique business, or teach martial arts, or try something new. Or I could just live off you." He grinned at his lover. "Make you buy the beer for a change."

Methos didn't smile in return, his eyes still intent on Duncan's face. "And you'd really leave Seacouver and Paris, live someplace else?"

"I've lived other places," Duncan pointed out. "I stayed here in Paris and in Seacouver because I'd been happy there, with Tessa. There were a lot of good memories." He reached over and covered Methos' hand with his. "But that's in the past. You're my present and my future, and I plan to be right where you are."

Methos looked at their joined hands and drew in a shaky breath. "Hell of a responsibility, Mac. Deciding _both_ our futures."

"I think you can handle it," Duncan said, squeezing Methos' hand. "And it's not like I'm going to be abandoning you to make that decision on your own."

Methos felt an odd chill run down his back and shivered, then looked up at Duncan. "Which doesn't solve our current domestic crisis."

Duncan retrieved his hand to finish his breakfast. "I wasn't aware there was a _crisis_."

"Inadequate water supply," Methos said, ticking items off on his fingers. "Small living space that will have the both of us at each other's throats within a month. Not to mention the inconvenience of shuttling back and forth every few days in the interest of fairness."

"Okay, so what do you suggest?" Duncan asked, sitting back. "We need a place close enough for Dr Fremont to keep tabs on you and far enough away from prying neighbors who just might notice when you get as big as a house."

"Thanks a lot, Mac."

"Don't mention it. In addition, we're the guests-of-honor at our wedding in another month so we can't go too far away from Paris. God knows what Gina will do if she doesn't think we're paying enough attention to details."

Methos frowned. "I suppose we can look about for the next month or so, see if something suitable turns up, and keep doing what we're doing in the meantime. Unless you'd like to look into one of the places Amanda turned up for us."

Duncan thought for a moment. "We can take a look. If we like one of them, even if we don't end up moving into it now, we can always keep it in mind for the future and rent it out."

Methos didn't reply to that, glancing over at the clock instead. "Bugger and blast, is that the time? We'll have to leg it if we're going to get to Julian's on time for my appointment. He'll never let us hear the end of it if we're late again." He grabbed his kit and paused in the bathroom doorway to look back at Duncan. "Mac?"

Duncan looked up from clearing the table, aware that there was a frown on his face but he couldn't help it. The more he tried to get a handle on their relationship, the more it seemed that Methos was eluding his grasp. "Yes?"

Methos hesitated, as if unsure what exactly to say now that he had Duncan's attention. "Look, I'm doing my best but it's going to take a little time, all right?"

"All right," Duncan said quietly. He'd back off, give Methos whatever time he needed, no matter how long it took. He only hoped that it wouldn't be too long.

Methos nodded, as if hearing Duncan's unspoken thoughts. "Thanks, Mac. And bring those housing papers along with you. It'll give us something other than old magazines to read in the waiting room, right?"

Duncan grinned as his lover disappeared into the bathroom, aware that he was being ridiculously happy over nothing, but he couldn't help it. Methos had let him take another step closer and that was the only thing that mattered.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the vestigal "womb" or pouch, this was my best attempt - pre-Omegaverse - to explain how a male pregnancy could occur. Since we have no idea how Immortals would work in any case, I felt free to come up with this explanation. However, I am not a doctor or a scientist, so it could very likely be a rubbish idea.

 

Methos signed in with the receptionist and took a seat next to Duncan in the waiting room. The place was practically empty which surprised him as he knew of Julian's reputation as the top reproduction specialist in Europe. Maybe the man only saw a limited clientele or referrals, he thought. Or this was his golf day, so he wanted the place cleared out early.

He wondered what the couple sitting at the other end of the room thought about him being here without a female companion. The woman, who appeared close to her due date to his experienced eyes, looked up and gave him a brief, friendly smile before returning her attention to her magazine. One hand rubbed absently at her distended stomach and the man with her smiled and covered her hand with his own as he murmured something that made her laugh.

Methos glanced over at Duncan and found he was watching the other couple as well. His stomach flip-flopped as he saw the avid gleam in his eyes. In another few months that would be them. He would be swollen like a blimp and Duncan would be touching him all the time, wanting to feel the baby's movements. And strangers would come up to him out of nowhere, wanting to touch him and tell him their childbirth horror stories, commenting to their companions when they thought he couldn't hear that they hoped the baby wouldn't be as homely as its mother, and -

"I'm going to be sick," he muttered to Duncan, looking around wildly for the bathroom.

Duncan looked at his lover in surprise and caught the panicked look. He didn't know what triggered it but knew how to head it off before Methos worked himself into a state.

"No you aren't," he said in a quiet but firm voice, catching hold of Methos' wrist to keep him in place as he surreptitiously checked the other man's pulse. "Breathe deep. It'll pass."

"You don't understand."

"Breathe." Methos automatically responded. "Good. Just like that. Again." He felt Methos' pulse settle back down and his color returned to normal. "Better?"

"Yeah," Methos reluctantly admitted.

"It'll be okay," Duncan said quietly. "Just take it one day at a time and think of something else." He pulled out the folder of real estate listings he had brought with him and handed it to Methos. "Take a look at these and see if any of them strike your fancy."

Methos leafed through the colorful papers, snorting as he read some of the descriptions. He paused over a few of them but said nothing as he handed Duncan back the folder. "A little pricey, aren't they?"

"We're not talking about places Adam Pierson can afford," Duncan reminded Methos.

"Obviously," Methos said angrily, barely remembering to keep his voice down. "I was joking about the 'kept man' bit, MacLeod."

Duncan frowned. "Where did that come from?"

"It's what everyone's going to think," Methos said impatiently. "Adam Pierson, MacLeod's boy toy."

Duncan couldn't help it. He laughed and the affronted look on Methos' face just made him laugh more. Methos could feel the curious look from the couple at the other end of the room and didn't know whether to kill Duncan or laugh with him. He settled for hissing, "Will you _behave_?"

Duncan tried to control his laugh. "Sorry. The image of you as _anyone's_ boy toy threw me."

Methos glared at him. "What, you think I can't do young and sexy?"

"Oh, I think you do young and sexy very well," Duncan said dryly. "It's the shallow and mindless part I have trouble with."

Methos grinned, amused and flattered despite his wish to stay irritated with Duncan. "Okay, so they won't think I'm your boy toy, but..."

"But nothing," Duncan said, reaching up to caress Methos' cheek. "We're getting married, Methos. It's expected that we'll live together.  So if _together_ we can afford better than Pierson's current funds allow..." He shrugged. "I told you I'd let you keep me when you land a professorship at some prestigious university."

"I may hold you to that," Methos said darkly, taking back the folder and looking over the papers slowly. "There's a few nice ones here but they're around the Marais area, on the other bank. Away from your usual haunts," he said, not saying "away from Darius' church" out loud but the words seemed to hang in the air anyways.

Duncan shrugged. "Maybe it's time for a change.  This one is interesting. Large, airy, wall to ceiling bookshelves - "

"It's a _loft_ , Mac," Methos pointed out. "You're in a rut, you know that?"

"It has two other bedrooms as well," Duncan said defensively. "Well, what about this one? A townhouse on a quiet, dead-end street."

"With four floors. Mac, in a couple months I won't be able to find my feet and you expect me to run up and down four flights of stairs?"

"By that time we'll be moving out of the city anyways," Duncan pointed out.

"Why are we bothering to look? If we take any of these places, we'll just get all settled in and then we'll have to move again. Have I told you how much I hate moving?"

"Constantly," Duncan said dryly.

"Why don't we just _stay_ where we are until we find a place to move into till after the baby's born?" Methos snapped.

"Fine," Duncan said.

Methos gave Duncan a suspicious look. "You're being reasonable again."

"Am I?"

"And you know I hate being managed."

Duncan grinned. "Could have fooled me."

Methos glared but before he could say anything else, the nurse was calling his name so he had to settle for his most intent look of displeasure, which only made Duncan grin wider.

Julian looked up with a smile as they were ushered into his office. "Well, it looks like you survived your little altercation with the In-Laws. Let me get your vitals recorded and then we'll talk about how you're doing."

It took a few minutes for Julian to record his weight and blood pressure, then he gestured for Methos to remove his sweater so he could check that the wound had healed completely.

"So how are you feeling overall?"

"Fine," Methos said.

Duncan glared at him. "You're not fine, and you know it." To Julian he said, "The nausea is worse than ever, although it seemed to be okay for a while. He was very sick this morning and said he couldn't eat lunch yesterday because his stomach was upset, although I personally saw him take his medication  both days."

Julian frowned and reached for the file he'd just set down. "Are you managing to keep anything down? How's your appetite?"

"Comes and goes," Methos admitted. "I'm not throwing up all the time but that's because I'm not eating much."

"And yet you put on 6 lbs already when that's more than I'd expect you to gain during the whole first trimester," Julian said musingly. "I didn't think much of it - you're too skinny anyways and can use the extra weight - but if you're not eating enough, it has me puzzled."

"Is it that bad?" Duncan asked, worried.

"Not necessarily. I wouldn't expect an Immortal to get gestational diabetes, which is one of the things we suspect with quick weight gains, but I suppose it's possible. What we need to do is run an ultrasound, just to take a look at what is going on in there."

Methos frowned. "I thought ultrasounds weren't done till the 12th week, and I'm only at 7."

"Transabdominal ones, no, you can't get a good image this early. But transvaginal scans can be run as early as 5 weeks."

"But I don't have a - " Methos began, then his eyes narrowed. "Oh, no, you don't! You're not putting that thing up my arse! Not in a million years. Not for anything in the world. Do you hear me, Julian? Mac, I refuse, completely and categorically."

 

* * *

 

Methos lay on his side on the table and grumbled, "Why do I always let you talk me into doing something I know I'm going to regret?"

Duncan's mouth curved into a smile but his eyes were locked on the bag on the IV pole, carefully watching the fluid level. "Because you know I'm right?"

Methos snorted. "Not likely."

"Because you knew Julian wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer and would get that big, burly nurse to strap you down and do this?"

"That's highly probable." He groaned at a sudden cramp and felt his lover's hand soothingly rub over his abdomen.

"That's all of it," Duncan said, carefully clamping the tube and easing the nozzle out of his lover's rectum. "Now just relax and hold it for five minutes."

"You get filled with a couple gallons of water and see if _you_ can hold it," Methos grumbled. He groaned again at the discomfort. "Damn it, this _hurts_."

"Just a few more minutes," Duncan said soothingly as he continued to rub Methos' abdomen while watching the clock intently. "Okay," he finally said, helping his lover get up and shuffle towards the bathroom.

While Methos was occupied with that, Duncan pressed the buzzer to let the nurse know they were ready. He wanted to go into the bathroom to help Methos but figured the other man needed what little privacy he could get in this situation. Nevertheless, when Methos shuffled back into the room, he was at his elbow to help him back up on the table.

Julian came into the room a few minutes later, an obscenely cheerful smile on his face. "Are we ready?"

Methos gave him a scathing look. " _We're_ not having something shoved up our arse, are we? Although I'm sure I can arrange otherwise."

Julian just gave him an amused smile. "Stop being a drama queen and roll over on your side." He looked at Duncan. "MacLeod, if you'd pull his top knee forward and hold it still, please."

Duncan did, watching as Julian picked up a long, narrow instrument attached to a machine with a small view-screen. Julian checked the transducer and the leads carefully, covered the probe with a condom, and then applied a coating of sterile lubricant.

"Okay, Methos, here we go. Deep breath and hold it." He gently eased the transducer into Methos. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Speak for yourself," Methos grumbled.

"Let's just see what we have," Julian said, adjusting the screen and moving the probe until he got a clear picture. "I'm going to move slowly so we can get a good look at everything."

"Pervert."

Julian ignored him, intently studying the screen. "There!  Look at that!  It answers a lot of questions I've had."

Duncan peered at the screen with a frown, finding it nearly impossible to make out the blurry shapes. "I thought you were the expert."

"Give me a break, MacLeod. The last time I dealt with a male pregnancy, I was just grateful for a sharp, sterile knife and Immortal healing." He touched an area just visible at the top of the screen. "There's an opening here, one that shouldn't normally exist. And it seems to lead into a small sack-like area."

"Like a uterus?" Methos asked, tilting his head so he could look at the screen.

"No where near as sophisticated," Julian said absently, studying the image. "Just a temporary holding area, a place to contain the fetus as it grows. I thought the placenta attached to the intestine or bowel, as in an abdominal pregnancy, but never imagined something like this. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that all male Immortals have this pouch-thing but it takes a shared Quickening to make it open up and get ready for business, so to speak." He gently pressed the transducer deeper, centering the image on the screen. "I wish I knew how fertilization occurs between males, but I doubt we'll ever really know that."

Duncan studied the image, trying to see what he was talking about. "So if there's an opening, it's possible to deliver naturally."

"Over my dead body!" Methos snorted. "When it's time, I want drugs and a sharp scalpel, in that order."

"But Methos, it would probably be better for the child."

"Fine. Next time, _you_ can get pregnant and deliver it naturally. I'll hold your hand and tell you to breathe."

Julian and Duncan shared a look that said they'd defer the subject for now, then Julian turned back to the screen. "All right, gentlemen, shall we knock on the door and see who's home?" He shifted the wand of the transducer slightly and saw Methos wince. "Easy, Old Man. I know it's uncomfortable but we're almost done."

"Uncomfortable?" Methos groaned. "You have such a way with words."

"I do my humble best," Julian said, his eyes on the image. "And there is our little one," he said with a smile. He circled a spot on the screen with a light-pen. "See this clear spot here, Duncan? That's the embryonic sac, and this little blob down here is your son or daughter."

Duncan eagerly studied the image. "Can you tell which it is?"

Julian shook his head. " _It_ doesn't even know which it is yet." Then he frowned and bent closer. "What on earth...Methos, I need you to shift a little this way, please," he said, gently easing the Immortal forward a bit. "My God! I never expected... this is absolutely incredible!"

"What?" Methos demanded, his heart in his throat. He may not have wanted this child, but the thought that something might be wrong with it suddenly terrified him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Julian said, a grin threatening to split open his face. "But we have an explanation for the weight gain and the increased nausea." He pointed at a slightly smaller clear spot beside the first one. "See this? It's a second embryonic sac. Congratulations, gentlemen - you're having twins."

 


	28. Chapter 28

 

Duncan winced at the sound of something hitting the wall of the dressing room next door and looked at Julian. "I hope you didn't have anything you were particularly fond of in there."

Julian gave him an irritated look. "Don't you think you should go in? He needs your help."

Duncan winced again at the sound of loud and - fortunately - unrecognizable cursing coming through the walls. "You hear that? That is not his 'Mac, I need your help' tone of voice. That's his 'Mac, I'm going to rip off your balls and stuff them down your throat and _then_ I'm going to kill you' voice." Another crash sounded. "You're his doctor.  Why don't _you_ go in there? You could, I don't know, calm him down."

Julian consider that. "Is he armed?"

"Now that's a stupid question!" Duncan said sarcastically. "Methos is _always_ armed. I've got his coat with the major arsenal, but God knows what else he has hidden about his body."

They both winced as something particularly heavy hit the door and made it shudder, and exchanged a look. "We'd best give him a little time," Duncan said decisively. "A chance to come to term with the good news."

Julian snorted. "You'll be a grandfather by then," he pointed out. "That man can hold a grudge for a long time, and he seems incredibly pissed off by the idea of twins." He gave Duncan a sideways look. "So you think it's good news?"

Duncan couldn't suppress a huge grin. "Are you kidding? Finding out that I was going to be a father in the first place was something I never thought would happen to me. But this...I can't even find words for how happy I am." He winced at the profanity coming from next door. "Even though he's going to make my life hell for a _long_ time for this."

"You could always point out to him that it's really _his_ fault," Julian said. "After all, you just delivered the payload, so to speak. It's _his_ body that decided to provide dual targets."

"Do you think it's the double shared Quickening that did this?"

Julian shrugged. "What else could it be? Every other Immortal pregnancy I've documented has involved a single shared Quickening and resulted in a single baby. Yours is the first double Quickening I've heard of and the only twins. They have to be related, although I couldn't begin to explain why." He sighed. "I know that the shared Quickening makes a male's sperm and a female's egg viable for a female-receptor, but with a male-receptor I don't know what makes the sperm combine.  His could have converted into an egg, for all I know. And I probably never will know," he said with another sigh.

Duncan recalled Connor's suspicions and asked, "Why is this so important to you?"

"I'm not trying to find a way to breed armies of Immortals, so you can tell your cousin to stop worrying," Julian said dryly, then his face took on a soft, sad look. "Quite the contrary. I hope someday to be able to help Immortals have children with their mortal mates. Preferably mortal children so that no one will be driven to misuse the process."

Duncan frowned slightly. "But why?"

Julian gave him a disbelieving look. "Why? Surely there's been at least one woman in your past that you'd have given anything to have a family with." At the look on Duncan's face in response to that he said, "You're not the only one, Duncan. Most of us have felt that way. Oh, we've adopted orphans, married widows, or given our name to those who'd have been fatherless bastards, but it isn't the same."

"And you really think you can do that?"

"Not today - maybe not even this decade. But someday." Julian looked wistful for a few minutes, then shook himself and said briskly, "You know this changes a lot of things, don't you? Methos will need to increase his intake by 300 calories a day for each child, and that won't be easy while he's still so nauseous. I can't give him any additional medication, but I'll give you a pamphlet on other ways to reduce the nausea. And you'd better step up your plans to find a safe haven. He's already starting to thicken around the waist and it won't be long before he starts showing."

"He is?" Duncan said, surprised.

"You see him every day and it's been a gradual increase so you probably didn't notice. Methos should be starting to notice it himself, even if he's in a state of denial. If you can convince him to give up those tight jeans for something looser, he'll be a lot more comfortable and it'll probably help with the nausea."

"If he ever talks to me again," Duncan said, then looked over at the door to the dressing room with a frown. "He's awfully quiet in there."

Julian gave him an alarmed look. "I don't feel his presence, not even a slight buzz."

Worried that the old Immortal may have done himself a fatal injury, the two men rushed to open the door, and stood for a moment looking around at the devastated - and empty - room.

Duncan let out a whistle. "Wow. When Methos does 'mad', he doesn't do it by halves, does he?"

"I'll take care of this," Julian said. "You just go find him." He gestured toward the open door that led to the hallway. "He must have slipped out while we weren't paying attention.  He's probably long gone by now."

"And he hasn't got his sword or his gun," Duncan said grimly, holding up Methos' coat. "Idiot! I'm going to kill him when I find him!"

"Don't make threats, just find him," Julian said urgently. "Then give me a call and let me know how he's doing."

"Right," Duncan said, heading towards the doorway, then paused and looked back at the doctor. "If he doesn't kill me first, of course."

Julian just waved at him to get out of there, then turned back to the task of righting the devastation the furious Immortal had wrought.

 

* * *

Joe was in the middle of rehearsal when the door jerked open. "We're closed," he called out, even as he glanced over to see that Amanda and Richie, sitting at one of the tables as they watched the jam session, had suddenly stiffened. 

"Fine," Methos snapped as he let the door slam shut behind him. "I can't drink anyways.  You don't mind if I use your back room, do you? I thought I might get violently ill and then slit my wrists, but I promise not to make too much of a mess." He stalked across the bar, jerking open the door to the office and slamming it behind him.

Amanda and Richie exchanged a look with each other and then with Joe. "What bug crawled up _his_ butt?" Richie wondered.

Amanda stood up, smoothing down her short skirt. "I'll just go have a little chat with him and see what's up."

"Be careful," Joe called out. "He sounds like he's in a really bad mood."

Amanda smiled at him. "I think I can take care of myself, Joe," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "but thanks anyways."

She opened the office door and, when nothing dangerously pointed threatened her, stepped in and closed it behind her. "Methos?"

"Go. Away."

The voice came from the couch and Amanda snapped on the light so that she could see better in the dark office.

Methos flung an arm over his face as he lay sprawled on the couch. "Bloody hell, would you just turn that off and leave me alone?"

"I don't think you really want me to do that, do you? You wouldn't have come to Joe's; you would have just gone home." Amanda pulled a chair closer to the couch and sat down. "What happened? Did you and Duncan have a fight?" Methos snorted at that. "Methos, surely you know this is one of the first places he'll look for you."

"Good," Methos said succinctly from behind his shielding arm. "Because the next time I see that bastard, I'm going to kill him."

Ordinarily, Amanda would have jumped to Duncan's defense but she sensed that Methos needed to feel that someone was on his side for a change. "What did he do?" she asked gently. "Did he hurt you?"

Methos sighed and lowered his arm. "Of course not. It's just...oh, hell! He's probably going to blab the whole thing when he sees you, so I might as well tell you. We saw Julian today and he ran an ultrasound."

Amanda vaguely recognized that word. "And something happened?" A horrible thought occurred. "Is something wrong with the baby?"

"Babies."

Amanda blinked. "Pardon?"

"There's nothing wrong with _them_."

"Them. Plural as in...more than one."

"Twins," Methos said with a sigh. "I've got two of the little buggers growing inside, not one."

"Twins," Amanda said in disbelief, and then, "Oh, Methos! I'm so sorry!"

Methos blinked. He had expected her to be surprised, possibly even to gush over the thought of twins as most people did, not to express sympathy. "What?"

She took his hand in hers, pressing it tightly as she said sympathetically, "I know you were having problems dealing with the thought of _one_ baby, and I don't blame you in the least," she added with a shudder at the thought of being in that situation herself. "And with two...well, that's _got_ to be even more horrifying."

"Exactly," Methos said, relieved to find at least _one_ person who sympathized with him.

"And I expect Duncan just _gushed_ and carried on like it was the most wonderful thing in the world, bragging about fathering twins, without a bit of thought for _your_ feelings."

"That's right," Methos said, struck by her understanding. "He was grinning like an idiot, and so was Julian, for that matter."

Amanda nodded. "I'm not surprised," she said darkly. "Men! They are complete beasts, always crowing about their virility."

"Hey!" Methos protested.

"Not you, of course, darling," Amanda said soothingly, patting his hand. "You're not going to let him get away with this, are you? What are you planning to do to him?"

"The thought of taking his head had occurred to me," Methos said dryly.

Amanda considered that for a moment, then shook her head. "Too permanent, and I'd probably have to Challenge you for his sake. Besides, you want him to suffer, don't you?"

"Duncan suffering sounds pretty good to me right about now, but they have laws about torture these days."

"Darling, you're going about this all wrong," Amanda said confidentially, scooting her chair closer. "You're pregnant; there's nothing you can do about that. There are two babies instead of one; again, nothing you can do. So what you need to do is to take your lemons and make lemonade!" She gave him a triumphant smile, as if that made everything clear.

Methos gave her a look. "Were you born daft, or is this a recent development?"

"Don't be nasty.  I'm trying to help."

"Which begs the question, why? I thought you were _Duncan_ _'s_ friend," he said pointedly.

"I am, but sometimes he needs to be taken down a peg or two." She patted Methos' hand again. "And you're just the man to do it."

"So explain to me why making soda pop is going to do that."

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean _literally_. I meant that you should use this situation to get what _you_ need and want. Duncan's completely _gone_ on you already. And if you work just a teensy bit on that guilt thing he has going, you could probably get all sorts of lovely things out of him. Jewelry, clothes..."

"Not my scene, Amanda."

"All right, your loss," she said with a shrug. "How about books or something like that?"

"Well, I _could_ use a new laptop," Methos said slowly, considering the idea for the moment.

Amanda beamed at him. "Exactly! I expect you'll have to take it easy now that you're having _twins_ , and you'll need all those technical gizmos and such to keep you amused. And books. Lots and lots of books."

Methos groaned and flopped back on the couch. "Damn! Julian will probably put me on bed rest for the last month or two."

"Which is even more reason why you'll need Duncan alive," she said practically. "Waiting on you hand and foot, keeping your spirits up with chocolate and backrubs. You could probably even get him to spring for one of those large screen televisions and the latest high-tech VCRs so you won't be bored. But _first_ , you should get him to take you on vacation to someplace warm and restful. You deserve something nice before you get as big as a whale."

"Thanks a lot," Methos said dryly.

"Don't mention it," she said cheerfully. "Just remember that the larger you get, the more you can play on Duncan's sympathies. And don't hesitate to go for the jugular."

Methos gave her an awed look. "You're an evil woman, Amanda. Remind me to stay on your good side."

Amanda flashed her dimples at him. "Oh, I will. Now, promise me you'll play nice with Duncan and not kill him, or I won't feel the least bit safe about flying home tonight."

"You're leaving Paris?" Methos asked in surprise, sitting up. He was surprised to realize that he was going to miss the little vixen.

Amanda nodded, flushing. "Nick called last night, and he misses me, and...Well, you know how it is."

He laughed ruefully. "I certainly do. Here we are, six thousand years of experience between the two of us, and these _infants_ are making us jump through hoops. How do they do it? And more importantly, _why_ are we doing it?"

"Because they still have the fire, the joy of living," Amanda said softly, her eyes misting a bit. "And because when we're with them, it makes us feel warm inside."

They both sat silently for a moment, then stiffened slightly as they felt Immortal presence in the outer room. They exchanged a look and Methos sighed.  "I promise I won't do any serious, permanent damage to him, but I can't let him off the hook completely"

"Right." Amanda stood up and produced her sword. "Here. I noticed you don't have yours. But if you break it..."

 

* * *

 

Duncan paused in the entrance to Le Blues Club, relieved to feel the familiar wash of Presence coming from the back office. He closed his eyes and uttered a brief thanks to angels and saints who watched over stupid Immortals who charged off without their swords.

"You okay, Mac?" he heard Joe ask and open his eyes. Joe was watching him with concerned eyes as his group put away their instruments, obviously just having finished a rehearsal. Duncan looked around the room, absently noting that the barmaid must be out again because most of the tables hadn't been cleared after the lunch crowd.

"Adam?" he asked.

Joe jerked his head towards the back office. "He came in here thirty minutes ago." As Duncan took a step towards the door, Joe said, "I wouldn't, if I were you. He seemed pretty pissed. Amanda's in there calming him down."

"So what's up with the old guy?" Richie asked curiously. "He was saying something about barfing and slitting his wrists.  Not the best of mornings, huh?"

Duncan's eyes went wide at Richie's words and, once again, he took a step towards the office. This time, he was stopped by a sword pointed right at his throat.

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Methos said lightly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I was looking for you," Duncan said, standing perfectly still. He was aware that in the background Joe was telling his band they were actors rehearsing a scene. Then the mortals were leaving and Joe was locking the doors behind them, but all of his focus was on a pair of eyes glittering with a deadly golden gleam.

"And you found me," he said mockingly.

Duncan was suddenly irritated with the old Immortal. "And a good thing, too! You went off without your coat and your sword, you idiot!"

"Idiot?" Methos repeated, tilting his head slightly. "I suppose I am. Who else but an _idiot_ would get into this predicament? Except that I'm not the one responsible for this, am I?"

"It's not _my_ fault!"

"Then whose fault _is_ it?" he demanded.

"Um - guys?" Richie interrupted. "Didn't you already fight about this?"

"Shut up, Richie," Methos said, not taking his eyes off Duncan as he slowly advanced and forced the other man backward.

"Look, it really isn't anyone's fault," Duncan said, trying to placate him. "Remember, I didn't know this could happen."

"Ignorance is no excuse. However," he said, as his sword circled down to hover over Duncan's groin. "I could always guarantee it didn't happen again with an impromptu vasectomy." With a voice like steel he said, "Draw your sword, Highlander."

"Mac!" Richie said, horrified. "I thought the doctor said it was bad for Methos to fight!"

"Shut up, Richie," Duncan said, not taking his eyes off Methos as the older Immortal circled him. "I'm not going to hurt Methos."

"That's right," Methos said. "Can't hurt the 'mother' of your children, can you?"

"You know this isn't going to solve anything," Duncan said.

"You're wrong. Beating the crap out of you will make me feel a hell of a lot better."

Duncan spread his arms wide. "Then go ahead. Take your best shot. I won't stop you."

Methos glared at him in impotent fury. "Don't your _dare_ go all noble and self-sacrificing,  MacLeod! Draw your sword and face me!"

"No," Duncan said quietly. "I love you and I'm not going to fight you. So if you want to run me through, I won't stop you."

Methos' mouth tightened. "Damn you, Duncan MacLeod!" He threw the sword to the side and snatched up an empty beer bottle, lobbing it at him. "You know I can't do that! I love you, too, you stupid, sheep-buggering sot!"

Duncan ducked and the bottle smashed on the floor behind him. He ignored Joe's protest, warily watching as Methos grabbed another empty bottle and threw it at him. "At least I'm not stupid enough to run around without my sword!"

"A hell of a lot of good it would do me to carry it!" Methos yelled, and another bottle went flying. "You know I can't take a Challenge!"

"That doesn't mean you can just walk around unprotected! Ow!" He'd ducked too late and a bottle smacked into his temple. He staggered, clapping a hand to his head, and his fingers came away bloody. "Dammit, that hurt!"

"Good!" Methos said roundly. "It's nothing like the pain _I'll_ be going through in seven months! And not just with _one_ baby, oh, no! The randy Highlander has to prove his virility by getting me pregnant with _twins_!"

"Twins?" Richie said, grinning from ear to ear. "Way cool, guys!"

"Richie, shut up!" roared two different voices and the young Immortal ducked as a bottle came sailing his way.

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault!" he complained, scrambling for safer cover near Joe.

Having used up all his ammunition, Methos stormed behind the bar and picked up one of the bottles there, preparing to throw it.

"Hold it!" Joe called out. "That one's full!"

Methos looked at the beer bottle in his hand. "You're right," he said. "It'd be a shame to waste that." He set it down and picked up a bigger bottle, half full, and lobbed it at Duncan.

"Hey!" Duncan protested. "That's the Scotch, dammit!"

"Yeah? Well, here's some soda to go with it!" Duncan ducked as another bottle hurtled at him. "Oh wait, you drink yours neat, don't you?" A barrage of glasses bombarded the table as Duncan took refuge under it.

"That's going on your tab, pal," Joe's voice called out from the back of the room.

"Put it on _his_ tab," Methos said, pausing in his assault to point in Duncan's direction. "Put everything having to do with these little bastards on _his_ account!"

"Now wait a damned minute!" Duncan snapped,  fed up with back-pedaling to keep from making Methos angry. He stomped across the room, grabbing Methos by the front of his sweater and hauling him halfway across the bartop.

"They will _not_ be bastards, not if I have to _drag_ you in front of a priest - kicking and screaming and at knife point - to marry me. Do you hear me?" he demanded, then took Methos' mouth with a fierce kiss.

By the time he released Methos again, Duncan could almost hear breath being held around the room. "Do you hear me, Methos?" he asked, in a tone quieter but no less forceful.

To Duncan's surprise, the corners of Methos' eyes crinkled in amusement. "Kicking and screaming?"

Duncan nodded, not releasing the front of Methos' sweater. "And at knife point."

Now something close to a smirk graced Methos' lips, so Duncan felt he had to kiss the man again, just to make sure he'd gotten his point across. When he released Methos, he said for the third time, "Do you hear me, Methos?"

"I hear you," Methos murmured. "You can let me go now.  I've finished."

Reluctantly, Duncan released his hold on his sweater and Methos took a moment to smooth the misshapen wool back down. "Right," he said briskly, crossing the room to pick up Amanda's sword. With a flourish, he presented it back to her. "Thanks for the loan and have a safe trip home." He leaned forward to kiss her check briefly, murmuring, "Good luck with _your_ infant."

"And you, too," she whispered back. Clearing her throat, she said aloud, "Can I give you a lift somewhere?"

"Back to the barge, if it wouldn't be any trouble. It's been an exhausting morning and I need a nap." Methos turned to Joe and said, lightly, "Sorry about the mess, Joseph. Put the cost of the damages on my tab."

Joe gave him a slowly growing smile. "You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"I do my best," Methos said modestly. "See you around, Ryan," he said, then collected his coat and Amanda and swept out of the place.

There was silence for a long moment, then Duncan sunk down on a stool and said, in a dazed tone, "What the hell just happened?"

Joe let out a bark of laughter, looking around at the devastation. "You have to ask? Come on, Richie.  Grab a broom and help me sweep up this mess."

Duncan drew in a deep breath. "It could have gone worse," he said philosophically.

"Yeah, I'll grant you that," Joe said dryly. "You could be a head shorter."

Duncan sat for a moment, then said, slowly, "He gave in too easily, didn't he?"

Joe leaned against the bar and grinned. "Ya think?" He shook his head. "You have some serious ass-kissing to do there, buddy."

"Flowers and chocolate always work for me," Richie said as he swept the broken glass into a pile. "Not to mention groveling."

Joe made a dismissive wave. "This is much more serious than a broken date, and didn't you notice? He was talking with Amanda. That ups the ante considerably."

"Yeah," Richie said, pausing and looking at Duncan, grinning. "You are so screwed, man."

Duncan groaned and sagged forward until his forehead touched the bar. "He'll never let me live this down. And I can't even bribe him.  He doesn't want anyone to think he's my 'boy toy'."

Richie snickered and Joe shot him a warning look. Soothingly, he said, "I'm sure the old man will get over it.  Eventually. I mean, twins. That's a lot to cope with." Joe paused and said, "He's really having twins?"

"Yeah," Duncan said, reaching for his pocket. "You want to see?"

"What, you got pictures already?" Joe asked with a snort. "Hell yeah, I want to see!"

Duncan carefully unfolded the image of the sonogram Julian had printed before Methos went ballistic, and laid it on the bar. "There they are," he said, lightly touching the two clear sections. "Julian says they're fraternal twins, not identical, but it's too early to tell their sexes."

"Wow," Richie said softly, looking over Duncan's shoulder at the images. "I've never seen anything that small before. And to think that's growing inside him."

"Incredible," Joe agreed, studying the picture and committing it to memory, to think about and marvel over later, in private. "You're one lucky bastard, Mac."

Duncan smiled widely as he carefully folded the picture up and tucked it back in his pocket. "Yeah, I am, aren't I?" Standing up, he pulled several large bills out of his wallet and laid them on the bar. "That should take care of the damage. And now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I'd better go home and make sure Methos knows exactly how lucky I feel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures of the little blobs can be found on [page 2 of the Gallery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9739821)


	29. Chapter 29

The barge was quiet when Duncan arrived back at it, and only the reassuring - if muted - thrumming of Immortal presence let him know Methos was there. Cautiously, in case there was a replay of the scene in the club, he entered to find that it was just as quiet inside. A quick glance around the interior helped him find the other man, curled up on the bed, fast asleep.

Duncan hung up his coat and picked up Methos' discarded one from where it lay on the floor, smiling over the way he had made himself at home. Like a stray cat that wanders in and takes over your life, and your heart.

He followed the trail of shoes and sweater and jeans, picking up and folding each item, ending up at the foot of the bed. Methos was sound asleep, and Duncan carefully sat down on the bed beside him. There were shadows under his eyes, ones he was almost certain he hadn't seen that morning. But then again, how close attention had he been paying if he hadn't even noticed that Methos was putting on weight?

Tentatively, he put out a hand and smoothed the unruly hair falling over Methos' forehead. It was growing out from that horribly short cut into the longer length that Duncan liked best and, if the books were right, was likely to grow fast and thick over the next few months. He smiled; yet another thing for Methos to gripe at him about, but maybe he could convince his irascible lover to put off getting it cut for awhile. He'd been itching to run his fingers through that soft hair since the first day he'd met him.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he'd followed his instinct and had seduced Methos in those early days. He had no doubt he could have done it; the way Methos had looked at him during their first meeting had been a dead give-away, not to mention the raking look he'd been graced with when Methos had returned to Paris. But there had been Kalas in the way and Amanda in his life, and it hadn't been the right moment. He sighed; it seemed like there had always been something coming between them, keeping them from becoming lovers. As if Fate herself had kept them apart.

If they had become lovers at the start, if they'd had a history together, then maybe Methos wouldn't be so uncertain about Duncan's true motives in keeping them together now. Like that stray cat, working extra hard to keep your attention and win your affection, just to make sure you didn't throw him out, while at the same time having one paw outside the door against the day he was invited to leave. And Duncan didn't know how to convince him that he had a home for as long as he wanted, convince him to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But, on the other hand, maybe the early lust they had felt would have burned out without more to sustain it, without the history they had slowly been building together. And the baby - babies - wouldn't have been here if not for that shared Quickening, the result of facing Kronos and the other Horsemen. Duncan never thought he'd have reason to be grateful to that bastard, but maybe he did. After all, in the end Duncan had won - both the fight and the Immortal both he and Kronos had coveted. Methos.

He must have said the name out loud because Methos stirred in his sleep, fuzzily coming aware of the Immortal presence nearby.

"Mac?"

"Here," Duncan said quietly, soothingly stroking his lover's forehead. "Go back to sleep."

"Can't," Methos groaned, rolling over on his back, and Duncan suppressed a smile.

"Let me guess. Bathroom?"

"Laugh, and I perform that vasectomy with a dull knife."

Duncan sighed. "You're still mad at me."

"Give him full marks," he said mockingly.

"Look, I know you're upset but haven't we already been over this ground?" Duncan said in exasperation. "Yes, if I hadn't had sex with you that night, you wouldn't be pregnant now, although I don't think you can reasonably blame me for twins. And I'll admit that I wouldn't change the end result. Having you for my lover and having a child -- children -- together is a dream come true for me. I'm sorry as hell that you're having the worst of it.  If I could carry them for you I would.  But I can't.  So are you going to spend the next seven months angry with me, or are you going to accept this and let us move on?"

Deadpan, Methos said, "How long do I have to decide?"

"Methos, you _can't_ stay mad at me forever!"

"Watch me. Oh, and by the way, you'll find your couch is exceptionally comfortable."

"You're throwing me out of my own bed?" Duncan asked indignantly.

"You're right," Methos said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I should just go back to my flat."

"Wait!" Duncan caught hold of his lover and tugged him back into bed. "We need to talk."

Methos lay pinned under his lover's body and glared up at him. "I see nothing to discuss."

Duncan sighed. "Fine. What's it going to cost me to get a little peace and quiet?"

Methos quirked an eyebrow at Duncan. "I am _not_ Amanda."

"No, but you've been hanging around her way too much lately, and I have no doubt she's given you some tips for getting back at me."

A corner of Methos' mouth lifted. "Well, she _did_ suggest that I make you buy me the latest electronic gadgets -- a laptop, palmtop, and such -- to keep me amused. "

"Why am I not surprised?" he muttered.

"But since we've already had that discussion about me _not_ wanting to be your boy toy," Methos said, smirking up at Duncan, "I've thought of some other ideas."

"Of course you did," Duncan said with a long-suffering sigh. "Well, don't keep me in suspense. What's my penance to be?"

"I'll tell you in a bit," Methos said, pushing Duncan off him and getting up. "Right now, I need to make a trip to the loo."

"All right," Duncan said, watching Methos stretch as he headed towards the bathroom. He studied his lover's boxer-clad form and couldn't see any real change in the waistline but supposed he'd have to bow to Dr. Fremont's greater experience. "How about I fix lunch?"

Methos shrugged. "If you'd like."

Duncan sighed as he watched the other man disappear into the bathroom. This lethargy didn't seem like Methos and he had a suspicion that the earlier scene in the club had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. Combined with the nausea and the new demands on his body, Methos looked like he was near the end of his strength - not that he would admit it. Duncan was going to need to employ a few diversionary tactics to make his lover get the rest he needed.

Duncan threw together a quick fruit salad with a yogurt dressing, something that would be light and filling, vaguely recalling he had read somewhere that yogurt was easy on a sensitive stomach. He'd left the doctor's office without the pamphlet Julian had promised him, although he expected the doctor would find that a convenient excuse for dropping in on them later. Still, there had to be something in one of those pregnancy books he'd gotten for Methos about morning sickness or, failing that, something on the internet. He'd check them both out later while Methos was resting. And he had a lot of ideas on just how to make Methos do that.

Methos came out of the bathroom after taking a few minutes to brush his teeth and gargle in the faint hope of dispelling the bad taste that always seemed to be at the back of his throat.  He was surprised to find that Duncan was setting a tray with what must be lunch on the bed and frowned at Duncan.

"I'm not an invalid, MacLeod."

Duncan turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Objecting to a little pampering? What if I admit to an ulterior motive? _I'd_ like a little down time. You wore me out last night and then this morning in the shower - and that little game of dodging bottles really took it out of me." As he talked, Duncan pulled off his shirt and stepped out of his pants, folding both neatly and setting them on top of Methos', then he got into bed.

Still suspicious that he was being managed, Methos climbed back into bed and accepted the tray handed him. He glared at the food on the plate, certain it would disagree with him and come back up faster than it went down, but reluctantly took a bite. To his surprise, he found it was really good.  The citrus in the fruit salad actually cut the acrid taste in his throat for the first time in days. Before he knew it, he had devoured the salad, then sat back against the pillows with a contented sigh.

"Good?" Duncan asked, unsuccessfully concealing a smirk.

Methos eyed him and, momentarily, considered physically removing that smirk from his lover's face. Fortunately for Duncan, Methos was still feeling drained and his sword was all the way across the room. Besides, there were always Amanda's tips to fall back on.

He reclined back on the pillows. "Quite good. I think you should do all the cooking from now on. Given my delicate condition."

Duncan knew that Methos was trying to bait him and refused to give into him. "Fine," he said, in an equally bland tone. "And speaking of 'delicate condition', you must be exhausted. That was quite a tantrum you threw."

Methos smirked. "Centuries of practice."

"I can imagine," Duncan said dryly. "It wasn't very nice to leave Joe to clean up after you, though, was it?" he asked, hoping to appeal to his feelings for Joe and drain off some his ire.

Methos shrugged. "Joe knows it wasn't personal."

"Maybe not against him," Duncan said," but it felt pretty personal to me! And  while we're on the subject, why take it out on me?"

Methos sighed. "Because it's rather pointless to rail against the Universe or Nature or the Stork. Besides, you were there."

"Sometimes you are such a pain in the ass," Duncan complained.

"I am," Methos said, matter-of-factly, but Duncan was acutely aware that he was watching him intently. "What are you going to do about it?"

"This," Duncan said, taking the trays and setting them on the floor, then turning back to take Methos into his arms and kiss him soundly.

"Well," Methos managed to say when his mouth was finally released. "Maybe I should pitch a fit more often."

"You can pitch a fit as often as you like, you can be as sarcastic as you like," Duncan said seriously. "As long as you remember one thing: you'll always have a home right here." He touched his chest over his heart. "And you never have to worry about losing it. Ever."

Methos' eyes met his for a long moment and then, infinitesimally, he relaxed. A teasing smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and he said, "In that case, let's talk about that laptop you're going to get me. Not one of those cheap jobs, mind you. Oh, and a wireless modem card so I can surf the Internet, no matter where I am and - hey!  Get off me, you oaf!" Methos protested as Duncan pinned him again. "You're forgetting my delicate condition."

Duncan snorted but propped his upper body up on his elbows as he pressed full length against Methos. "There's nothing delicate about you, except possibly your sanity."

"You should know; look at who I've fallen arse over elbow for," Methos retorted, but he took the sting out of his words by running his hands up and down his lover's back. "Mac, sorry to disappoint but I'm knackered. Can we postpone this till later?"

Duncan kissed his lover tenderly. "Oddly enough, I have no fiendish plans to ravish your helpless body. Well, not at the moment. I'm just trying to get a straight answer out of you."

"And of course that requires you to flatten my body into the bed," Methos said.

"Of course."

"What do you want to know?"

"My penance."

"Oh." Methos looked up at Duncan, amused. "I expect I'll get my pound of flesh when you have to put up with my mood changes, cravings, not to mention the hell I'll give you if I have to go on bed rest. And no complaints."

"All right," Duncan said warily.

"However, I really think that, in the interest of science and medicine, you should provide Julian with a subject for comparison purposes."

Duncan frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Methos grinned. "You should let Julian stick that probe up your arse and take a look around. Help him confirm some of his theories."

Duncan sat bolt upright. "Not on your life! What do I look like - a complete idiot?"

"Now that you mention it..."

"Shut up. There is no way you're going to get me to let him probe around my butt, looking for God knows what."

Methos shrugged. "Have it your own way, but the sofa will get terribly cold and lonely."

"That's blackmail!"

Methos gave him an innocent look. "What? Am I asking for compensation? No. Just exercising a time-honored tradition of spouses everywhere - withholding sex till I get my way."

Duncan gave Methos a sour look. "And what would you know about that?"

"Sixty-eight wives, MacLeod, remember?"

Duncan gave him an amused look as he reclined on the bed beside Methos, stuffing one of the pillows behind his head. "I always thought that was a bit of an exaggeration," he said. "You with sixty-eight wives? I can't imagine you convincing _one_ to marry you."

As soon as he had said it, he wished he could take the words back. He'd seen Methos with Alexa, had seen how sweet and tender he had been, and he could easily imagine women falling for _that_ Methos. He couldn't help it if his preference was for the snarkier version.

Methos didn't seem to notice his sudden silence. "I'll have you know I was a hot prospect as a son-in-law! A man who could read and write was highly esteemed in many cultures."

"With sixty-eight wives, I'm surprised you could find the time," Duncan murmured.

Methos gave him a look. "They weren't all at the same time, although I've had a harem or two in my day. Besides, unlike _some_ people, I don't spend all my time in bed."

"Sixty-eight?"

"So maybe that's not the _exact_ number," Methos said, giving Duncan a wicked look. "It was an approximation, for effect."

Duncan flushed. He knew exactly what Methos meant, had known when Methos threw out that number. Sixty-eight previous lovers, teasing him with the idea of being number sixty-nine - and the innuendo had fueled Duncan's fantasies for weeks.

"And you're hardly one to talk," Methos continued. "How many lovers have _you_ had in the past four hundred years? Can I help it if during most of my lifetime it was a hell of a lot safer to be _married_ than to be caught trysting with someone's sister or daughter? Castration is such a bloody nuisance to recover from."

Duncan grinned. "Would that be personal experience speaking?"

"If you think I'm answering _that_ ..."

"And I imagine that a stranger who was willing to take damaged goods would be very welcome to an anxious father," Duncan said shrewdly. "A better alternative than having his daughter stoned to death or cast out." He caught Methos' sudden flush and smiled.

"Oh, don't give me altruistic motives, MacLeod.  Unlike you, I don't go around risking my life for anyone with a sob story."

"Tell that to someone who doesn't know you."

Methos glared at him. "You don't know me. There are things in my past..."

"Blah, blah, blah," Duncan said, rolling his eyes. "We've done this, Old Man. It doesn't matter. What you've done, what I've done, nothing matters except that we're together, and that we're a _family_."

Methos dropped his chin to his chest and appeared to be thinking. After a long moment, he lifted his head and stared across at Duncan. "Speaking of family, hand it over, Mac."

Duncan gave him a startled look. "What?"

"The picture. If I know you and Julian - and I do - he either offered to make a copy of the sonogram or you asked for one. Sentimental idiots, the pair of you."

Reluctantly, Duncan got up and went to his coat. He pulled out the piece of paper and handed it over, hoping Julian could make him another copy after Methos tore this one to bits.

To his surprise, Methos carefully unfolded the thermal paper strip and laid it on the cover, studying the image critically. "Hmm. Well, they appear to be healthy, at any rate. Development is right where it should be for seven weeks."

"You think so?" Duncan asked, shifting so that he was peering down at the images over Methos' shoulder. "This one looks a little smaller than the other."

"Which is completely normal," Methos said, turning his head to give Duncan an amused look. "They'll both come out even in the end. Save your brooding for really important stuff _after_ they're born. Like when they'll say their first word, take their first step - "

"I'm not brooding!" he said indignantly.

"Not to mention their first date."

Duncan grinned and wrapped an arm around Methos' waist, resting his chin on the other man's shoulder. "Oh, I'm not worried about that. Between me meeting them at the door with my katana, and you sharpening your sword in the living room, their dates will get the picture."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Great. The sprogs will run off at the first opportunity."

"Not a chance. Convent school for any girls," Duncan pronounced. "And how young do you think they're taking candidates for the priesthood these days?"

Methos snorted. "Let's be realistic, shall we? All they'll have to do is give you a pleading look and say, 'But Daddy, I'm in love!' and you'll be melting like snow in July. Next thing, you'll be planning the wedding."

"Me? What about _you_?"

Methos grinned. "I'll be the one running the background checks on everyone they meet."

"Yeah, well, make sure you're allowed conjugal visits at whatever prison you end up in for hacking government databases."

"They have to catch me first," Methos pointed out and kissed Duncan.

Duncan tightened his hold on his lover and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. "Mmm. Good point. And for kisses like that, I'd help you hide from the law."

Methos looked around the barge and back. "Not too many places to hide here, Mac."

"I've got the perfect hiding place." Duncan said, letting his lips move down to Methos' throat "Right here in my bed."

"I think even the police would notice me lying in your bed."

"Not when I'm covering you completely." He pushed Methos flat and followed him down, as he continued his oral exploration. 

Methos arched under the knowing mouth and hands as they charted his body with loving familiarity. "I think - they might - there! - notice the - writhing - oh Gods! - in your - bed."

"Fits," Duncan murmured, his mouth worshipping the smooth skin across Methos' belly, and it seemed as if he could feel the slight swelling of the flesh there. "I've suffered from them since I was a child." His hands caressed and stroked sensitive flesh, preparing his lover for their joining. His mouth moved back up Methos' body, toying with nipples that seemed to be even more sensitive than usual although the chest was as flat and firm as ever.

"Legs," Methos moaned, even as he spread his legs far apart to allow Duncan to settle between them. "Bound to notice - extra legs - across your back."

"Only one answer for that," Duncan replied, shifting back up on his knees. Methos groaned at the loss of full body contact but readily rolled over. It was only a moment before he felt his lover's cock sliding into his body; he moaned and shifted his knees even further apart, letting Duncan sheathe himself completely.

Duncan rested his cheek against his lover's firm shoulder, holding his body still to savor this moment of joining. He loved the feel of his lover's body pressed against his chest, of the tight passage gripping his cock, of the long feet that hooked themselves over Duncan's calves to keep their bodies together. He turned his head to kiss the warm flesh, thrusting slightly just to hear Methos' moan.

"Of course, I'd have to gag you," he murmured in Methos' ear as he continued his shallow thrusts, avoiding the spot that would electrify his lover. "You're much too noisy in bed."

Methos was panting slightly under the gentle assault, wanting more than he was getting and yet relishing the slow build.  "Gags, Mac?" he asked, rocking back slightly to encourage a little more motion. "I didn't know you were so kinky. What will I find next? Handcuffs?"

"Bottom drawer of the nightstand," Duncan murmured, speeding up his thrusting just a little. "Right next to the flogger and nipple clamps." He forestalled a comment from his sharp-tongued partner by thrusting a little harder, brushing up against the pleasure spot.

Methos gave an inarticulate shout and thrust back, hard, and any more conversation was short-circuited by the burning need filling them both. Duncan straightened up and grasped his lover's hips, burying himself over and over into his lover's body while Methos swore and shouted and bucked underneath him. A final thrust and Duncan was coming, feeling his lover shudder just before he collapsed onto the bed, sated and exhausted.

A few minutes later, a faint voice murmured, "I think your plan will work, particularly since you've mashed me flat."

Duncan chuckled, admiring a man who could put together words of more than one syllable so shortly after their joint climax.  He rolled to the side to allow his lover some breathing room. "Bitch, bitch, bitch. And here I am, sacrificing myself to protect you from the horrors of prison."

Methos rolled on his side facing Duncan. "You're just worried that a monthly conjugal visit won't be enough to satisfy you."

Duncan smiled and reached out to push a stray lock of hair off Methos' forehead. "It wouldn't be. Hours away from you are unbearable, days would devastate me. And it's not just the sex. It's you."

Methos flushed, a sight Duncan found both amusing and endearing. "And you said you didn't have plans to ravish my helpless body."

"I said 'at the moment'. This was a different moment." Duncan kissed him tenderly. "Besides, it's part of my fiendishly clever plan to tire you out so that you'll sleep some more."

"You know, it would be an even _more_ fiendishly clever plan if you didn't tell me what you were planning to do." Methos yawned.

Duncan grinned. "Damn. Knew I was doing something wrong. Oh well - it seems to be working." He slipped out of bed and drew the covers up over his lover's body.

Methos cracked open an eye. "What're you doing?"

Duncan leaned over to kiss Methos. "I've got to call Connor in New York before he heads back to Scotland.  I need him to do me a favor. And then I thought I'd check those books and the Internet for some ideas to help make you feel better. And since you've decided that I should be in charge of cooking, I've got dinner to prepare -"

He paused, seeing that Methos' eyes were tightly closed, and smiled. Softly, he said, "Sleep well, love.  And I am _not_ letting Julian get his hands on me."

"Wanna bet?" Methos murmured, then snuggled deeper into the covers.

Duncan smiled and sighed. "No bets, because we both know who'll win this one. Eventually. The couch is too cold and lonely, and too far away from you."

He kissed his sleeping lover's forehead and stood up, stretching. Calculating time zones, he decided he had plenty of time for a shower before he called Connor. That would give him time to figure out how he was going to break this latest news to Connor, and about the favor he was going to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures of the little blobs can be found on [page 2 of the Gallery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9739821)


	30. Chapter 30

Methos staggered off the Rue Cuvier as they reached the quai St. Bernard, stepped onto the grounds of the Jardin des Plantes, and collapsed on his back with a groan. "You're a bastard, MacLeod."

Duncan jogged in place, keeping stretched muscles warm, and gave his weary lover, now sprawled on the ground in front of him, an amused look. "And your point would be?"

Methos gave him a disgruntled look. For the past week, Duncan had dragged him out of their warm bed at an ungodly hour of the morning, nagging him through several miles of fast walking. Today's excursion had been a two-and-a-half mile brisk walk to and _around_ the Jardin des Plantes, a place he normally enjoyed visiting but _not_ at an hour of the day when sensible people would be in bed savoring that first cup of coffee. Not that he'd as much as _sniffed_ real coffee for the past month.

"The _point_ would be that I'm not moving from this spot for - oh - at least the next hour."

"We've still got another half-mile to go."

"And you're more than welcome to continue," Methos retorted, closing his eyes and settling comfortably on his back. "Send a cab for me when you get back to the barge."

"Oh, no, you don't," Duncan said, ruthlessly grabbing his arm and dragging him to his feet. "It's only a half mile. You walked farther than this yesterday, so what's the problem?"

"And the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that," Methos grumbled, even as he reluctantly ambled after the other man. "Are you seeing a pattern here, MacLeod?"

"Yes - one lazy old man complaining about getting a little exercise," Duncan replied. "Speaking of which, pick up the pace. You're exercising, not taking a Sunday stroll."

"I know I'm exercising," Methos said. "My whole bloody body knows I'm exercising, from my sweaty, aching head to my sore, broken feet."

"Faster. You need to get your blood moving."

Methos glared at him. "Easy for you to say. You're not carrying an anvil in your gut."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "You're only eight weeks, not eight months. The babies are only a quarter-ounce combined and you've only gained seven pounds, so don't give me that."

"I feel like it's a lot more," Methos grumbled, reluctantly walking faster. "The way you stuff food in my mouth every time I turn around, it's a wonder I don't weigh twenty stone."

"Mini-meals, Methos. The books say that small meals every few hours help prevent nausea. And it's working, isn't it? You haven't been throwing up these past few days."

"No thanks to that ginger-tea you keep forcing down me," Methos snorted. "Besides, you know it's this band that's helping." He adjusted the cotton acupressure band around his wrist so that the button pressed against the correct point.

Duncan snorted. "Right. The lemon slices had nothing to do with it."

"Is _that_ what you keep trying to stuff up my nose?"

"Can I help it if you have such a big target? And you're supposed to _sniff_  them to help the queasiness, not snort them." Duncan paused. "It's _not_ that silly bracelet."

"It's an _acupressure_ band, and it isn't silly. You're jealous because _C _onnor__ sent this to me."

Duncan stopped in his tracks. "I'm _not_ jealous of Connor," he said indignantly.

"Good," Methos said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Because you have no reason to be jealous of him. Or anyone else for that matter."

Duncan stared at his lover, a slow smile lighting up his face. Over the past week since their discovery of the twins and subsequent "fight", Methos had come out with surprising statements like that at the most unexpected moments. Surprising to Duncan, at any rate, because he had never expected Methos to wax romantic over him, and because he had the niggling little feeling that he had somehow trapped Methos into this situation. Utterances like this reassured him that the love he felt for Methos was a two-way street, and that there was more than lust and a pair of babies between them.

He smiled at Methos and caressed his cheek briefly. "You _do_ look a bit worn around the edges. Why don't you stay here and do some stretches while I run a quick mile along the quai to the pont d'Austerlitz and back to finish off? Then we can go back to the barge, have some breakfast and a shower, and try to think of a good reason _not_ to go back to bed."

Methos grinned at him. "Works for me."

Duncan shed his long coat, laying it at Methos' feet, so that he could move easier and took off at a quicker pace than he had allowed himself while keeping step with Methos. The older Immortal stood watching appreciatively as Duncan jogged off, admiring the movement of the muscles moving under the sweat pants, wishing that Duncan was wearing his running shorts instead. He grinned at the lecherousness of his thoughts, a grin that was caught when Duncan glanced back to see how Methos was doing.

"You're _supposed_ to be stretching!" Duncan called back to him, jogging backwards for a few paces. "Your muscles will get stiff."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mother," he called, then muttered to himself as he began a series of cool-down stretches, "I've only been looking after myself for 5000 years. I think I've figured out that part for myself."

He stretched his arms overhead and then in circles, relishing the feel of pleasantly tired muscles. Despite his complaints to his lover, he actually enjoyed the exercise. He wasn't a devotee of physical fitness like MacLeod, but he'd be a fool to let himself get out of shape when his very life depended on it. And exercising with Duncan was much more enjoyable than doing it alone, especially since he got to bitch the entire time, which seemed to make Duncan feel like he was accomplishing something. Made him feel like he was a part of this whole "pregnancy experience".

Methos smacked his forehead, not believing that he had just thought those words. "I have _got_ to stop Mac from reading those damn books out loud," he muttered. He deliberately focused his thoughts on other areas, in particular the more pleasurable activities their exercising often led to: exercise of a different nature.

His grin abruptly faded as the feel of Immortal presence washed over him. Methos straightened and looked around, swearing under his breath as he realized there was a stranger approaching him along the Rue Cuvier, not - as he had briefly hoped - Richie or Julian. A quick glance around told him that if this Immortal was looking for a fight, there was nothing to deter him from making a public scene. It was too early in the morning for visitors to the menagerie, museum, or greenhouses, and even the other early-morning exercise enthusiasts seemed to have disappeared.

It wasn't that he was defenseless: his sword rested comfortably against his back, a loaded gun was in his right coat pocket, and Duncan's katana lay at his feet. It was just that, in addition to his own reluctance to fight, he would catch unholy hell from _everyone_ if he did, for risking the babies. He held out his arms to the side, indicating his peaceful intentions.

"I'm not looking for a fight," he said out loud to the stranger approaching him.

The man smiled at him, a wolfish smile that displayed way too many teeth, and Methos suddenly had a name for him. Saegar, called the Wolf, of Saxon extraction, about nine hundred years old, and with a reputation for being a ruthless fighter. He'd been out of the Game for a long time but had recently started playing seriously again and no one knew if it was the Gathering or something more personal that had triggered his emergence from "retirement".

Not that it really mattered what had started his Hunting, just the results. During his time with the Watchers, Methos had seen reports on him: Saegar would move into an area, start by Hunting all the "small" game, then move up to the older, more experienced Immortals. It had only been a matter of time before he set his sights on Paris, and Methos had determined that he would leave town the minute he heard Saegar was on the way.  Only he hadn't heard and now it appeared it was too late.

"That's too bad, child," Saegar said, flashing those teeth again. "Because I'm not giving you a choice. Fight and die, or turn tail and die, it makes no difference to me."

Methos deliberately slouched, trying to look as terrified as possible since Saegar had decided he was a young Immortal. He slid his hands into the pockets of his coat, grasping his gun. "I don't even know who you are."

"Oh, you're one who likes the formalities," he said mockingly. "Todd Singer is the name I currently go by, but I was born Saegar the Wolf."

"How nice for you," Methos said.

Saegar's eyes narrowed and he jerked his head towards the quay behind them, and one of the shadowed areas under it. "Shall we take this some place more private?"

"Of course," Methos said, rapidly thinking. About 200 yards down the quay was a pedestrian tunnel that led under the railway from the Quai Saint Bernard to the Port Saint Bernard, the most private place to take this challenge. He would let Saegar walk ahead and then shoot him in the back and push him into the river. By the time the bastard revived, Methos would be out of the city.  No, he'd have to convince Duncan to leave, too. And Julian. Duncan would insist on Richie getting clear. And then there were all the wedding guests due to arrive the following week...

Methos swore under his breath at the complication that becoming part of Duncan's "family" was causing. He had just decided he'd have to stake the dead man's body to keep it from rising and reviving for the foreseeable future - say, until the next time the Seine flooded - when the familiar wash of Presence hit him. Duncan. He didn't know whether to laugh in relief or to swear out loud. Knowing Duncan and his habits, swearing won out.

"Problem?" Duncan asked, slowing down as he approached the two Immortals. He had felt the new Presence and sensed Methos' worry, turning on his heels to race back to his lover. He saw that neither man appeared to welcome his presence, although the stranger was at least curious. Methos just looked angry.

"This is none of your business, MacLeod," Methos said sharply.

"MacLeod?" Saegar said, interest appearing on his face. "And which would you be - Connor or Duncan?"

Duncan took his coat, ready to free his katana at a moment's notice. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. And you are?"

"Saegar the Wolf of Suffolk."

Methos could see the two warriors sizing each other up and a combination of dread and fear tightened his guts. "Your challenge was to _me_ ," he said sharply.

Duncan glared at Methos, a message clear in his eyes. "Not now, lad," he said warningly to Methos, then looked back at Saegar. "My student," he said with a shrug inviting sympathetic humor. "He's a bit hot-headed, thinks he knows more than he does."

"Then perhaps he should watch and see how I defeat his teacher," Saegar said genially. "It might give him a few more seconds of life when it is his turn, after I've dispatched you."

"Pretty big talk from a man who hasn't even struck the first blow," Duncan commented. He pulled his sword free from the sheath in his coat and leaned closer to Methos as he did, so that he could mutter, "Stay well clear, Methos. I don't want to take the chance of a stray Quickening hurting you."

"Whose: yours or his?" Methos hissed at him. Duncan's eyes flashed briefly but he turned his attention back to his opponent. There would be time to settle their differences when this Challenge was over.

Cursing under his breath, Methos looked around to see if he could pinpoint Saegar's Watcher, or any other interested observers, and then followed the two Immortals as they moved into the dark tunnel. The sound of clashing blades was already apparent and he moved back against the wall, well out of the way but not as far away as he knew Duncan would want him to be. But then again, he had no intention of letting Saegar take Duncan's Quickening.

The fight started off evenly matched, both fighters having a similar body-type and favoring strength plays to begin with, while they were fresh. Saegar may have had five additional centuries on Duncan, but the Scot had had good teachers and had taken on several brutal opponents over the past few years, so he was more than able to hold his own. As the fight progressed, it became apparent that Duncan had more stamina for a long fight than Saegar. The Saxon was obviously accustomed to quickly overcoming his lesser skilled opponents and, drawn into a protracted fight with MacLeod, was starting to tire. But he was still a deadly fighter, as the shallow cuts along Duncan's abdomen  showed, and Methos' hand tightened on his gun as he tensely watched Saegar force Duncan back, out of the tunnel and towards the riverbank.

But Saegar had made a mistake - a fatal one. As they emerged from the tunnel, the sun's light caught him by surprise, making him hesitate long enough for Duncan to get in a fatal slash across his midsection. Saegar crashed to his knees, unable to support his body weight under the pain, and Duncan swung his blade in a final arc to separate head from body.

Methos was also caught by surprise at the sudden ending to the fight but had enough time for a prudent retreat. He made it back to the mouth of the tunnel before the Quickening surge took his lover's body with an intensity that told Methos that Saegar had been a very busy boy lately. Sheltering along the wall by the mouth of the tunnel, he peered back down it so that he could keep an eye on Duncan while he absorbed the Quickening energy, expertly judging the moment when it would be safe to move to his lover's side and help him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked urgently, seeing that Duncan was still shaking.

Duncan nodded. "Just let me...catch my breath." He glared at Methos. "What the hell was that earlier? Were you really going to fight him?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Of course not."

"Good. Because I'd hate to have to explain to Julian why I felt compelled to strangle you with my bare hands." Duncan growled. "What _were_ you going to do?"

"Leave town," Methos said promptly. "And then I realized that you'd want to get Richie, and the Valincourts, and Julian out of his way, and there's almost fifty Immortals coming into town next week for the wedding. So I decided I'd have to shoot him, stake down his body and toss it in the river, and hope he held for awhile."

Duncan's mouth gaped open. "You were going to shoot him?"

"You'd rather I fought him?"

"I'd rather you let _me_ fight him," Duncan said. "Isn't that my purpose? What I'm here for?"

Methos' lips tightened. "I thought you were here because you wanted to be."

Duncan sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "I am. Look, I'm tired and strung out, and we need to get out of here so the Watchers can do their job. Can we fight about this when we get back to the barge?"

"Fine," Methos said crisply, tossing Duncan's coat to him and turning on his heel to head back through the tunnel.

"Great," Duncan muttered. He wiped as much blood as he could off his katana before sliding it into the sheath and donning his coat. His sweatshirt was cut to pieces so he tied the coat tightly closed to hide the slices and blood, and then set off after his irate lover.

Methos hadn't gone too far, a sign that Duncan found hopeful. He reminded himself that Methos wasn't used to having someone else fight his battles for him, that he himself wouldn't be happy if the situation was reversed. And he couldn't help smiling, even if it was a tired smile, when Methos slipped his arm around him and gave him a concerned, searching look.

"I'm fine," he said reassuringly, pleased when Methos gave him a half-smile back.

"You think so? You haven't gotten a good look at your clothes yet. A complete loss," Methos griped at him. "I swear, Mac, you are harder on your clothes than any ten kids. I'm beginning to rethink that bit about you being my kept man.  You'll run through all my money just in clothing replacement costs."

Duncan's grin widened. "You're just cheap, old man."

"The word is _frugal_ , Mac, and when you're a starving grad student, you've got to watch every penny. Like getting other people to pay for my beer. Speaking of which..." Methos gave him a hopeful look as they crossed the walkway to the barge.

"Absolutely not," Duncan said firmly.

"But I've had such a shock to my system," Methos whined. "And I think I read an article that said beer is good when pregnant."

"I read the same article, and it said moderate beer consumption might be helpful when you're _nursing_ , so the day you decide to start breast-feeding..."

Methos snorted. "In your dreams. Tell you what: get Julian to give you some of those hormone shots and _you_ can breast-feed." He peeled Duncan's coat off him and pointed in the direction of the bathroom. "Shower. Now."

Duncan stripped off his tattered clothes and left them in a pile as he turned on the water in the shower. He watched Methos pick up the bundle of bloodied clothing with a frown and suddenly couldn't stand the bantering. "Methos, are you angry with me?"

Methos looked over at him and saw the look on Duncan's face, half guilt and half stubborn belief that he was right. Methos sighed and set down the clothing. "Why do you think that?"

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're grinding your teeth and growling at me?" Duncan stepped into the shower and moved under the cascading water.

"I don't growl. I snarl. There's a difference." Methos shed his own clothes and followed Duncan into the shower. He picked up the soap and began lathering Duncan's back. "I'm not angry," he said quietly. "He was a Hunter but he wasn't after you, specifically, or me.  We were just Quickenings to be gathered." Duncan turned to face him and opened his mouth, and Methos put his hand over Duncan's mouth to silence him. "I didn't say that I'm _happy_ about you fighting him, just that I'm not angry. You should have let me take care of him my way."

Duncan pulled Methos' hand away. "Your way would have left him alive, to come after us again years from now with a very _personal_ grudge," Duncan pointed out.

Methos shrugged. "He'd have to find us first, and I'm very good at hiding."

Duncan frowned. "I don't hide. Not like you're talking about doing."

"Then you're going to have to learn," Methos said firmly, and his eyes met Duncan's. "Duncan, living with a family, a spouse and children, means that you have to make _changes_. You have to learn to do what's best for them,  even if it means making compromises with your honor. Things like changing your name, living a life less in the spotlight, refusing Challenges."

Duncan frowned. "I'm Duncan MacLeod. I can't change who am I."

Methos took Duncan's hand and laid it on his abdomen, right over the slightly swollen flesh. "Yes, you can - and you will. For them if not me."

Duncan snatched his hand away, staring at Methos, furious at this emotional blackmail. Methos sighed and got out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off, and retreated into the main part of the barge to see about breakfast.

Duncan stood under the shower water for a long time, frozen in place by the implication of Methos' words. Change who he was, what he was, or condemn those he loved to exposure and death. But if he stopped being who he was, stopped being Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, stopped being Chieftain to his handpicked clan, then who would he be?

He didn't have an answer and the water was turning cold so he forced himself to move, to turn it off and step out of the shower. He toweled himself dry, wrapped the towel around his waist, and went in search of his lover.

Methos was putting the water on for tea, his back turned to Duncan, and the sight of the lean body with just a towel wrapped around his hips reminded Duncan that he had just recently taken a Quickening he hadn't had a chance to work off. He moved up behind Methos, wrapping his arms around his lover's waist, and sucked at one of Methos' most sensitive spots, where his neck and shoulder joined.

"Mac..."

"Hush," Duncan muttered. "I don't want to argue anymore today. I want to take you to bed and fuck you through the mattress."

Methos groaned, tilting his head back. "And what if that's not what _I_ want to do?"

"We'll flip for it," Duncan offered thickly, one hand moving down to strip away the towel covering his lover's lower body. "God, Methos, I want you so much."

Methos turned in his arms, pressing their bodies tightly together. "It's okay. I know what you need." He kissed his lover, a hard and possessive kiss, and Duncan responded with eager passion and need. This was not the time for seduction, for slow lovemaking or tenderness, and Methos knew it. What Duncan needed right now was release.

Duncan tugged him roughly over to the bed, pushing Methos down and following him, hands and mouth moving feverishly over his lover's body. Methos responded readily, rolling Duncan under him and moving quickly down to engulf his cock in his mouth. His lover arched in surprise and clutched Methos' head, too far gone for politeness. He thrust fiercely into the warm haven, roughly taking his pleasure, heedless of anything but his need. Methos relaxed his mouth and throat, allowing Duncan to use him the way he needed to, and within minutes Duncan was groaning and shuddering his release.

Methos swallowed, milking his lover's cock expertly. He knew this was only the start, that it would barely take the edge off of Duncan's need, and quickly moved his hand down to probe at the relaxed opening with two lubed fingers.

Duncan arched and groaned at the intrusion, trying to press down on the fingers penetrating him, but it wasn't enough. "Do it!" he ordered. "Fuck me now!"

Methos slicked his cock and thrust in, meeting no resistance from his writhing partner. Duncan grunted, pulling back his knees for greater penetration, and grabbed at his lover. He kissed Methos hard, devouring his mouth.

"Harder!" he hissed. "Fuck me harder!"

Methos pulled out. "Roll over." Duncan obeyed quickly, settling on knees and elbows, and groaned when Methos thrust back in, hard.

"Yes!" Duncan hissed, thrusting back against his lover. "Yes! Like that!"

Methos grasped his hips and thrust in hard several times before stopping, buried deeply inside his lover's body. He leaned forward to savagely bite Duncan's earlobe.

"Like that, don't you? You love to feel me fucking you hard, feel me buried so deep in you that you'll be feeling me there for hours."

"Yes, dammit!" Duncan snarled. "Stop talking and start fucking!"

Methos slammed back in and continued pounding his lover. Duncan pushed back just as hard, urging him on, and Methos could feel his own climax approaching fast. He reached around to grasp his lover's cock, pulling on it hard, and Duncan came with a shout over Methos hand and the bed. Methos let go as well, then followed his collapsing lover down onto the bed.

They both lay there for a long while, gasping and trying to recover their breath, until Methos finally regained enough energy to pull out and collapse onto the bed beside his lover. He glanced over at Duncan, amused to see that the other man had apparently passed out, and sighed. He would have loved to join Duncan in oblivion, but there were necessary duties to perform and he seemed to be the only one capable of doing them at the moment. Besides, he had some thinking to do, and lying here next to Duncan wasn't going to help his thought processes at all.

 

* * *

 

Duncan woke mid-morning, aware that his lover was no longer in bed with him, although Methos' presence nearby tingled along his nerves. He sat up and glanced over at the living room area, and was surprised to see Methos sitting on the floor of the living area, dressed in sweats and occupied in cleaning an unfamiliar sword. With a shock, Duncan realized that it must have belonged to his opponent, and he wondered when Methos had picked it up. He also wondered at the sudden uneasiness he felt, then remembered Methos' earlier words about changing himself. His stomach churned.

Methos looked up. "Coffee's ready."

"I thought I'd run some errands," Duncan said, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get out and away. "Stop in and see Joe about tomorrow, talk with Gina about the final details, confirm reservations for the honeymoon..." He realized he was babbling and abruptly shut his mouth, getting out of bed to search for clothes.

Methos nodded absently, not looking up at him. "I have a few errands to run as well. Mind if I borrow Richie to play gooseberry?"

Duncan tugged on his pants and frowned as he looked over at his lover, feeling absurdly relieved to be clothed. "Mind? Of course I don't mind. Why should I mind?" He flushed as he realized he was babbling and wondered why Methos hadn't noticed that he was acting like a lunatic. He cleared his throat. "Tonight at your place, right?"

"I don't think so, Mac."

The words were quiet, gently spoken, but they froze Duncan to the core. "What?" he croaked. "But I thought - don't you want - you said you weren't angry."

Methos sighed. "I'm not, but...Mac, we've been living in each others' pockets for almost two weeks. We're getting married in eight days. And I don't think that you've thought, really thought, about what that means."

He looked directly at Duncan, his eyes glinting gold among the green, making Duncan aware of just how old and mysterious this man was. He suddenly felt like an infant, impossibly young and, irrationally, that lit his temper again.

And then Methos blinked and he was just a slender young man, sitting on the floor of the barge as he cleaned his sword. "Besides, Connor and Alex are arriving this evening.  You promised to make some time for them, remember?"

Duncan nodded, his throat still feeling thick with so many conflicting emotions that he was amazed he could talk. "I remember. But I could come over after..."

"Not tonight, Duncan," he said gently.

Anger washed over him again. "Fine," he said shortly, stomping towards the doorway. "If that's the way that you want it to be. I'll see you tomorrow, if you can fit me into your busy calendar."

Methos didn't say anything, not that Duncan gave him time. He snatched his coat off the hook and stormed out, throwing it into the back of his car as he got in and pulled away from the quay in a squeal of tires.

It wasn't until he was pulling the coat out of the car at Joe's that he realized it was his spare, the one that usually hung in his wardrobe. His katana had been carefully cleaned and secured in the scabbard by his lover, who had apparently sacrificed his morning nap to clean up after Duncan. The man he had just stormed away from, the man he was going to marry in a week but had just declared he wouldn't change himself to protect. The man who was willing to try to change who _he_ was to make him happy.

Duncan groaned and leaned his head against the steering wheel. "I'm an idiot," he muttered. He looked in the pocket of his coat, not in the least surprised to find his cell phone there, pressed speed dial, and waited.

"Pierson."

"Hi," he said quietly, feeling silly about the way he had acted. "It's me."

He could almost hear the smile across the line. "The penny dropped, did it?"

"Yeah. Sorry I acted like a jerk."

"Did you? I hardly noticed."

"Thanks a lot," he said dryly. "Look, I know what you're telling me but it's not easy."

"It never is," Methos said, his voice rich with understanding. "Talk to Connor. I expect he'll understand more than anyone."

"I expect he will." Duncan hesitated. "About tonight. I - I'll miss you."

Methos sounded amused. "You're insatiable, Mac."

"It's not the sex," Duncan protested. "Okay, it's not _just_ the sex. I'll miss being with you, holding you and being held by you."

"You'll survive just fine for one night, Mac. And I have plans."

Duncan frowned; this was the first he had heard of plans. "What kind of plans?" he asked suspiciously.

"If you must know, Gina and the girls are coming over and we're having a lingerie party," Methos said with asperity.

"Now that I'd love to see," Duncan said, grinning. "You in a Merry Widow and stockings."

"Last time I checked, my name wasn't Frankie," Methos said dryly. "And we really need to talk about your fetishes, Mac."

Duncan chuckled, his usual good humor restored. It had been a long time since he'd taken a Quickening that had given him such dramatic mood swings. Maybe Methos was right that a night apart would do them both good. By the time he saw Methos again, he'd be back to normal and he could properly apologize.

"So what are you really doing tonight?"

"Hell if I know," Methos admitted. "Joe asked me to come over. He's closing the place early tonight and needs a hand getting some things rearranged for the party tomorrow afternoon. Speaking of which, are we going together or meeting there?" he asked, referring to the engagement party Amanda was throwing for them at Les Blues Club the next day.

"I'll come over to your place so we can get ready together," Duncan said. "In fact, I was thinking about bringing enough clothes for a week and letting Connor and Alex have the barge, since he'll be keeping an eye on things while we're on our honeymoon."

"Duncan MacLeod! Are you suggesting that we _Live In Sin_ before our wedding?"

Duncan grinned at the outraged tone in his lover's voice. "Every chance we get."

"Oh. Well, in that case..."

Duncan laughed and caught sight of Joe coming out of the club. "Joe's come looking for me so I better go. I'll tell him to take it easy on you tonight, okay?"

He swore he could hear Methos' eyes rolling in his head. "Mac, I'm _fine_."

"And I want you to stay that way. I'll see you around noon tomorrow, okay?"

"I get a reprieve from the Master of Exercise? I actually get a lie-in? Is tomorrow a Bank Holiday?"

"Smart ass. For that, I just might come over an hour _before_ dawn and drag your lazy carcass out of bed for a five mile trek."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll fortify the drawbridge and start boiling oil."

Duncan laughed and waved his hand at Joe who was making impatient motions. "Got to go - Joe's having conniptions. Love you."

"Ditto."

Duncan sat looking at his disconnected cell phone in bemusement for a moment. Methos' references to pop culture amused him and he wasn't sure that he had caught all of them. He had the vague idea that Methos' "good-bye" was a reference to one of those Star Wars movies - or maybe it was the one with the ghost - but what this Frank person had to do with lingerie was beyond him. He'd die rather than admit it to Methos, though.  The next thing he knew, the Ancient One would be dragging him out to some boring cult film or another, in the interests of "educating" him. It was safer to ask Richie since he was planning on meeting up with Duncan and Connor tonight for dinner. Richie already knew he was completely clueless and would enjoy a good laugh at his expense.

Duncan got out of the car, grabbing his coat and humming tunelessly as he headed towards Joe, who appeared to have a list a mile long. At least he and Methos had faced two of Duncan's worries: how they would handle a Challenge to Methos, and how he would handle watching Duncan fight. And although they hadn't weathered either of those storms without damage and he had a feeling that they had a lot of talking to do in the future, they had survived and they were together. Everything else could wait.


	31. Chapter 31

Joe stood outside the club, waiting for Duncan to finish his phone call and join him. As he caught the look on Duncan's face, he rolled his eyes. "You were talking to _Methos_ on the phone? You left him, what, five minutes ago?"

Duncan shrugged a little sheepishly, stuffing the phone back in his coat pocket. "I left a little quickly."

Joe gave him a shrewd look. "You mean you two had a fight."

"I wouldn't call it a _fight_ ," he hedged.

"Okay. You said something stupid and slammed out without giving him a chance to say something stupid back, right?"

"Joe..."

"Just tell me you're not going to spend the next few hours calling him every fifteen minutes to apologize and play kissy-face."

Duncan gave his Watcher an indignant look. "I do _not_ play kissy-face!"

"Yeah? Then what do you call it?" Joe led the way towards the office. "Never mind, I don't want to know. It'd probably make me nauseous."

"You know, Joe, you're developing a prudish side. Isn't that bad for a Watcher? How can I count on you to get those bedroom shots in focus if you're closing your eyes?"

"I do _not_ take pictures of you in bed!" Joe said indignantly, then gave Duncan a wicked side-look. "I don't have that kind of time and can't afford to develop that much film."

"Ha-ha." Duncan paused in the main room and looked around, puzzled. The place looked different than it usually did.  In fact, it looked like it had been set up for the party already. "Joe? I thought Methos was coming over tonight to help you get this set up. Looks like you're done. Although Amanda will have a fit if you don't move those tables for a dance area."

Joe flushed slightly and didn't look at him, pushing open the door to his office. "Yeah, well, I decided to stay closed today, and Mike gave me a hand earlier this morning, and..."

Duncan looked at his old friend suspiciously. "Joe, what are you up to?"

"Aw, hell, Mac!" Joe said, sitting down heavily in his chair. "You gotta promise not to breathe a word to the Old Man, okay?"

"I'm not seeing him till tomorrow."

"Not a _word_ , Mac."

"All right," Duncan agreed. "Why is it so important that I not tell him that you don't really need his help moving things around tonight?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Because I want him to come over here! Do I have to spell it out?"

Understanding lit Duncan's eyes. "You're giving him a surprise party."

Joe beamed and sat back in his chair. "Give the man a cigar. Yeah, I got hold of some of his Watcher friends and a couple of his University pals.  It's gonna be a hell of a shindig."

Duncan grinned widely at Joe. "You old fox. And he doesn't have a clue, does he?"

"Nah. It's gonna surprise the hell out of him." His grin abruptly faded and he groaned. "Mac - hell, I'm sorry. I'd ask you to come, but...well, the only way I got some of the Watchers to agree to come was that I promised no Immortals. Except 'Adam', of course."

"Because Watchers aren't supposed to fraternize with Immortals," Duncan finished bitterly. "So what you're saying is that these people will show up at a party for Adam, but they won't come to his wedding because he's marrying an Immortal."

"Mac, that's not what I said."

"Then tell me I'm wrong." Duncan glared at Joe. "Tell me that at least one of these so-called Watcher friends needs to be added to the guest list." He saw Joe's eyes shift away. "I thought so. Maybe it's just as well.  'Adam' doesn't need friends like that."

"Now wait a minute, Mac! You're being a little harsh on these guys. Most of them are just kids, trying to do their jobs, and they've got a hell of a lot of obstacles."

"Right: all your rules and regulations."

"It's not just that, Mac, and you know it. You guys aren't exactly the safest people to hang around. And then finding out that one of the people they know is an Immortal - well, it kinda blew their minds."

Joe sighed. "As far as they know, one day Pierson was that geeky guy researching Methos and the next he's an Immortal, larger than life and smack dab in the middle of things. They're half-wishful and half-terrified that it might happen to them. Throw in all the restrictions about getting involved with Immortals and hell, they just don't know _what_ to do." In a gentler voice he said, "Give it time, Mac. Things are a little...tense in the Watchers these days but it'll shake out, you'll see. His friends will be there for him in the end."

_His truest friend already is_ , Duncan thought privately, seeing the honest concern on Joe's face. "Speaking of which, who's Watching Adam Pierson?"

Joe grinned. "You're lookin' at him."

"But I thought you were _my_ Watcher!"

"I convinced the Powers That Be that, since you two were getting' hitched and I was already Watching you, it made sense for me to Watch you both."

"And they agreed?"

Joe shrugged. "It's common enough, especially when we're thin on field agents. The Valincourts only have one Watcher, except for emergencies. Besides, in a couple months, any Watcher worth his salt would notice that Methos is putting on serious weight and add things up, and then the fat would be in the fire."

Duncan reached over to squeeze Joe's arm. "Thanks, Joe. I know he'll appreciate that, and I'm sorry if I got out of line."

"I know," Joe said with a sigh. "You still don't trust them...us. Fair enough. But you wanted me to check into friends of the old man, so you can't blame me for what I dig up. He was a Watcher long before you met him, remember?"

"I remember." Duncan couldn't help smiling softly in memory of the day he'd walked into Adam Pierson's place and found Methos. And he knew that he wouldn't have met Methos if it hadn't been for the Watchers.

"Just to make you feel better, a number his university friends are coming to the party, too. A couple of his old classmates just got back from a dig; they were delighted to hear the news and thrilled to be asked to the wedding. I had Gina add them to the guest list."

Duncan smiled widely at that. "Good. I'd like him to have friends there to see him off. It feels a little lopsided to have just mine there."

Joe hesitated then said, "Mac, I wouldn't bet that some of your guests don't already know Methos.  Not by that name, of course, but it's a pretty small Immortal world and he's been around a long, long time. I'd be surprised if he hasn't rubbed elbows with a coupla them."

"Methos saw the guest list," Duncan said, frowning. "He didn't say anything about anyone on it, one way or another. Certainly no one who's looking for his head, or he would have told me. You know how he hates trouble."

"There's all kinds of trouble,"he said dryly.

Duncan looked up at him sharply. "Have you heard something, Joe?"

"No, I haven't, but I figure you should be prepared for _anything_. Like old lovers."

"Oh."

Duncan hadn't thought about that, but he supposed it was possible that at least one of his old friends or lovers had known Methos, in the biblical sense of the word. A tendril of jealousy curled in his stomach.  He knew it wasn't fair, that it was a double standard, in fact, since he had slept with a goodly portion of the women invited to the wedding. And he'd never been a particularly jealous man in the past, so what was it about Methos that made him feel so possessive? Was this another side effect of the shared Quickening, like knowing when Methos was in danger? If so, he had a feeling that he'd better learn how to fight this jealous streak as he doubted Methos would be amused.

He drew in a deep breath. "Okay, Joe. I promise I'll behave myself."

"Good, because your bar-bill can't take another scene like last week. And neither can the club. Besides, I'm sure that Emily Post frowns on taking out the ex-lovers of your fiancé in the middle of a party."

Duncan grinned. "Yeah, but think of the entertainment value."

Joe snorted. "You've been hanging around the Old Man too much. That sounded like something _he'd_ say. And I promise I'll keep him from doing anything _too_ stupid tonight. Or at least to get good blackmail photos for you."

Duncan laughed. "You're a true friend, Joe. Now, about the party tomorrow: what do you need me to do?"

"Just a couple details to clear up."

"It's Amanda's party; why don't you discuss them with her?"

Joe gave him a sour look. "Are you kidding? You try to get her to pay attention to something other than that new guy she's leading around! I gave up; they're worse than you two!"

As he spoke, his eyes assessed Duncan's reaction to that, and Duncan smiled in return. "Relax, Joe. I'm okay with Amanda being in love with someone else.  You know we were never like that. Besides, one temperamental Immortal is all I can handle at a time, and I think I'm going to be fully occupied for the next century or two."

"Amen to that," Joe said with a grin, then picked up the list of items he wanted to go over with Duncan and got down to work.

 

* * *

 

"Adam! Yo! You in here, man?" Richie stuck his head in the doorway of the barge and looked around for the owner of the buzz he felt.

"In here, Rich." Methos came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. "It'll just take me a moment to put on my socks and shoes, all right?"

Richie shrugged as he ambled down the stairs into the living area. "Your call, man. I'm just the lowly chauffeur and body-guard." He caught sight of the sword lying on a cloth on the table and he whistled. "Wow! Nice sword.  Yours?"

"Not likely," Methos said dryly, sitting on the bed to tie his boots. "It's Mac's latest trophy."

Richie raised an eyebrow at the edge to his words. "So this guy after your head or his?"

"Anyone's," Methos said, standing up and starting the hunt for his keys. "What I call an Immortal bulldozer: comes into town and starts mowing down anyone he finds."

"Then I guess it's a good thing Mac took him out, right?" Richie hazarded.

"You could put it that way. Mac certainly would." Methos grabbed his coat. "Coming?"

Richie rolled his eyes; the Old Man was in a mood, and he had a feeling this was not going to be one of his better days. He followed Methos out to the quay and looked around.

"Where's your wheels?"

"Back at my flat," Methos said, heading towards Richie's motorcycle.

Richie caught his intentions immediately. "Oh, no, man! No way am I riding around the city on the bike with you. Mac would have my head!"

"Fine," Methos said, his words even more clipped. "Then I'll _walk_ back to my flat, shall I? You are welcome to push that thing alongside me if you'd like." He set off at a brisk walk down the quay. "If not, I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Adam!" Richie called out. "Wait, you can't do that! If you get so much as a scratch, Mac, Joe and Amanda will _all_  kill me."

Methos paused and turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Well?"

Richie groaned and headed towards his motorcycle. "All right, all right! I don't know why I even _try_ arguing with you. Hop on back - but if you even breathe a _word_ to Mac about this, I'm denying everything."

"Noted," Methos said with a triumphant smirk, retracing his steps. "I thought I'd take care of some errands first, then we can swing by my flat so I can change before going over to help Joe. Does that suit you?"

"Whatever," Richie said in resignation. "I'm gonna be in deep shit no matter what, so we might as well go for it."

Methos grinned. "That's the spirit, Rich! If you've gotta go, make a splash when you do."

Rich gave Methos a withering look. "Somehow, those weren't the words of wisdom I was looking for."

Methos laughed and settled on the bike behind Richie, giving him directions to the first place he needed to visit. The proprietor of the exclusive men's clothing store they entered gave a visible sniff at Richie's appearance but he turned to Methos with an ingratiating smile.

"Monsieur Pierson! I had almost given up hope that you would return for your final fitting."

Methos grinned back as he shed his outer coat, giving it into Richie's hands with a look that promised a slow and painful death if the younger Immortal took his eye off it for a moment. "Relax, Henri. I'd never disgrace you by showing up at my own wedding in an ill-fitting tux."

Henri gave him an indulgent look as he sent his assistant to the back. "As if you'd notice."

"I'd notice.  And if I didn't, Mac would."

He disappeared into the dressing room to change. Richie sat in one of the chairs in the waiting area, resigned to a long, boring wait, having been dragged on too many shopping trips with Duncan. He was surprised when Methos emerged a short time later decked out in a formal black tuxedo with a white vest and tie, and let out a whistle of appreciation.

"Wow! You clean up nice, old man."

"Sorry, I'm taken," Methos said dryly, stepping onto the platform in front of the mirrors. He surveyed his image critically, tugging slightly at the waistcoat and frowning. "This will need an adjustment as well as the trousers, Henri."

Henri made a tsking sound as he noted the new placement of the buttons for both the pants and vest. "If Monsieur Pierson wouldn't indulge so much at the table..."

"...then Monsieur MacLeod would be heartbroken. It's the curse of loving a gourmet chef." Methos turned back to the mirror to examine the lay of the coat along his back and nodded in satisfaction. "It looks fine, Henri."

Henri beamed at him. "Bon! I shall have the button placement corrected and send it over in the morning, yes?"

Methos nodded, stepping down and heading towards the dressing rooms. He emerged a short time later, jotted down his address for Henri, then collected Richie and his coat and headed out the door.

The next stop was the jeweler's to collect Duncan's wedding ring. Richie was curious to see what he had chosen but Methos wasn't sharing. He tucked the box carefully into an inner pocket of his coat and got back on the bike, directing Richie towards a section of town where many of the oriental businesses were located.

They stopped outside a small shop that looked like next to nothing to Richie's eyes and he gave Methos a questioning look. Methos ignored him and pushed open the door, making the bell above it jingle loudly, and Richie hurried to follow him in. An elderly man appeared to be the only occupant of the store, and his face lit up as he saw Methos.

"Mr. Pierson! It is good to see you."

"Murasaki-san," he said, bowing. "The honor is mine. This is a friend, Richard Ryan."

Richie didn't know whether he should bow or not, so he settled for nodding his head which seemed acceptable as Mr. Murasaki nodded back at him. He looked  around the shop, noting the collection of Oriental artifacts and weaponry in the cases and on the walls. A brief but expert appraisal - a habit from the old days  - told him that the stuff was flashy and pricey, things that a ninja-wanna-be might drool over but that Mac would classify as inferior. He wondered what Methos wanted here.

"You have good news for me?" Methos asked the old man and he smiled even wider.

"Excellent news." The old man moved past Methos to lock the door and flip the sign to "Closed". "Come."

He led the way towards the back of the store, Methos practically on his heels. Richie followed them, pausing on the edge of the tatami floor to take off his shoes and coat, then joined Methos on the floor. The old man brought out a basin of water and a crisp linen hand towel, setting it on the floor before Methos. He carefully washed and dried his hands, then indicated that Richie should do the same.

With a shrug, Richie did so, wondering if the guy was an old friend of Methos and had invited them to lunch, although he didn't smell anything cooking. Mr. Murasaki picked up the bowl and disappeared behind the screen again, and Richie could sense Methos' anticipation. Whatever it was, it had him wired, and Richie didn't think it was lunch.

The elderly man returned carrying a cloth-wrapped object that he carefully set on the floor before Methos. Reverently, the older Immortal unfolded the cloth to expose the objects within, and Richie couldn't help catching his breath. On the cloth were two Japanese weapons, neither as big as Mac's katana but the scabbards looked to be a near match. With the white wrapped handle and the dragon fittings, it was clear they were meant to be companion pieces to the katana.

"They're beautiful," Richie murmured. "What are they?"

"Mac's wedding present," Methos said, carefully picking up the larger of the two weapons and inspecting it. "Mr. Murasaki is one of the finest sword-makers in the world and is famous for his ability to restore weapons like these."

"How did you manage to locate something that matched Mac's katana?"

"I didn't. They already belonged to me, although they were fitted much differently. I gave them to Mr. Murasaki, along with a drawing of Mac's katana, and he did the rest." He set down the wakizashi and picked up the tanto, turning the long knife in his hands and pulling it out of the saya to examine the blade and fittings. "Murasaki-sama, you have exceeded yourself. This is incredible work."

Murasaki smiled widely. "Considering what you left with me, it is well that you are impressed. The old saya had to be replaced, as did the handle core and habiki. As you requested, the fuchi, kashira, and tsuba were replaced with the dragon themes similar to the sketch you gave me. The tsuka-ito is of pure silk, and I personally polished both blades."

Methos couldn't seem to take his eyes off the weapon in his hands. "I didn't expect you'd have them ready so quickly."

Murasaki shrugged. "For this, I put all other work aside. It was a pleasure to work with blades as fine and old as these." The speculation in his eyes was apparent to even Richie. "Would you humor an old man by telling him how you acquired such rare weapons?"

"I inherited them," Methos said smoothly. "One of my ancestors was in the Navy in his youth and traveled quite a bit in the Far East during the last century. I found them in the attic when we were clearing out Gran's house."

Richie thought the old shopkeeper didn't believe that but he accepted Methos' explanation without so much as a flicker of his eyebrows. "Then you were most fortunate. As is the friend receiving such a precious gift."

"Mac will love them," Richie added, eyeing the swords with interest. His fingers itched to pick up one of them but he knew better than to touch another Immortal's swords.

Methos must have seen the look in his eyes because he set down the tanto and picked up the wakizashi, turning and holding it out to Richie. "Here, Rich. Try it out."

"Really?" Richie asked, even as his hands reached out for it.

"Really. I'd like to see how it looks in motion and get your opinion on the grip. You've known Mac longer. You know what he likes."

Richie didn't need a second invitation. He stood up and slowly pulled the short sword from its sheath. It slid out as easily as a knife in warm butter and he made a few passes with it, getting a feel for the weight of the blade. "It's got beautiful balance. A single-handed weapon?" Methos nodded. "It's shorter than Mac's used to handling, but it'd make a nice back-up."

Murasaki was watching Richie with a pleased look and he nodded. "Among the Samurai, it was customary to leave one's katana at the door when entering Court or the house of one's host, but perfectly honorable to keep the wakizashi at one's side." To Methos he said, "Your young friend handles the sword well."

"He had a good teacher," Methos said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Well, Rich? Will it do, or have I just wasted a hell of a lot of Adam Pierson's meager funds?"

Richie grinned but he realized that Methos was seriously asking his opinion. It made him feel warm inside, and he made a few more passes with the sword, imitating some of the moves his teacher preferred. He sheathed the sword again, careful not to touch the blade with his fingers, and gave it back to Methos. "It's perfect. I haven't seen anything finer in my life, except maybe Mac's katana. He'll love it."

"Good." Methos turned back to the elderly sword-master as he took out a folded check and handed it to him. "The fee we agreed on, plus twenty percent for having it ready so quickly. No," he said as Murasaki opened his mouth to protest. "Do not embarrass me by refusing to accept this poor token of my appreciation."

"How can I refuse such generosity?" Murasaki bowed. "Arigatou gozai-masu."

Methos bowed even deeper. " Dou-itashimashite. Kochira koso, Murasaki-san."

He carefully wrapped the weapons and rose fluidly to his feet, bowing again to the old shopkeeper before turning to leave. Richie hastily bowed as well, then slipped on his shoes and grab their coats as Methos' hands were full. Mr. Murasaki followed them to the door, admonishing Methos to take good care of the weapons and to return if he needed any other work done. Methos promised he would, surrendered the wrapped bundle to Richie briefly to pull on his own coat, then climbed on the bike and took them back.

Both men were silent on the return trip to Methos' apartment, Richie contemplating the enigma riding behind him. Whatever he'd expected of the oldest Immortal, it wasn't what he'd discovered as he got to know the man better. Methos could be insufferable and superior, smug and irritating, but he could also be amusing and, in some ways, was easier to approach than Mac, who still seemed to think of Richie as a kid. He liked the way Methos called him "Rich" instead of "Richie", and asked for his opinion abut the swords when he obviously knew a lot more about them than Richie ever would. Hell, he'd probably _invented_ swords or knew the man who did. Methos hadn't had any reason to even consider his opinion, but the fact that he'd asked made Richie feel like more than just "Mac's kid student".

He was still silent as he followed Methos up to his apartment. Methos headed for the dining table, calling over his shoulder, "Help yourself to whatever's in the refrigerator. No beer, I'm afraid, but there's juice and water and other horribly healthy things in there."

Richie grinned as he went to the fridge. "Mac's got you on a short leash, huh?"

Methos spared Richie a glare as he unwrapped the swords. "Don't even go there, Ryan," he warned.

Richie snagged a bottle of water and watched as Methos set out a stand and carefully placed the weapons on the rungs, leaving the bottom one open for the katana.

"Mind if I ask a question?"

"You can _ask_ ," Methos said absently and stepped back to look over the display critically, then made a slight adjustment.

"You were there, too? In Japan, a couple centuries back. That's where you got these."

Methos gave Richie an amused half-smile. "Kid, I've been just about everywhere at least once. And yes, I've been to Japan several times. _Not_ when Mac was there.  They were rather set against foreigners around that time and tended to do nasty things to them. I had enough sense to stay away."

"The way I heard it, Mac didn't have much of a choice."

"He never does," Methos murmured. "The man attracts trouble like a magnet." Abruptly, he turned away from the display. "Joe's expecting me in an hour. I'm going to change. Make yourself at home, just don't touch anything."

"Hey!" Richie protested. "I'm careful!"

"Right," Methos said dryly. "Not a thing."

Richie made a face Methos didn't see as he went into the bathroom, and then gave into the urge to check out the old Immortal's more visible possessions. Unfortunately, the majority of them appeared to be books, but he also had a pretty decent CD collection, and Richie loaded up the player with a couple favorites before continuing his perusal of the shelves.

Methos gave the young Immortal a look that combined amusement and irritation as he came out of the bathroom in his dressing gown, toweling his hair. "I thought I said 'don't touch'."

Richie gave him an affronted look. "What, you think I can't handle a few CDs? Mac lets me play his stuff _without_  hassling me."

"Yeah, well, I've _seen_ Mac's collection."

Richie grinned at him. "Get used to it, man. In another week, you'll be merging the worldly goods. Opera and grunge, side by side."

"I shudder at the very thought."

Richie turned and gestured towards the display on the table. "You gonna put that away? Mac's bound to see it, sitting out like that."

"That's the point," Methos said, hunting up clean clothes. "It's an engagement present. He's supposed to see it."

"So did Mac get you something or is it a big, dark secret."

"Yes, and it's not a secret. It was a book."

"A _book_?" Richie asked, rolling his eyes. "Isn't that, like, unnecessary?" he asked, gesturing at the bookshelves filled to capacity.

Methos stared off into space, a half-smile on his lips. "Perhaps. But it meant a lot to me." He seemed to shake himself out of his daze and sat down on the bed to pull on his socks and short boots. "We'd better get moving. If I'm late, Joe will never let me hear the end of it."

Richie grabbed his coat and followed the other Immortal down to the street, rolling his eyes when he saw Methos head towards the bike again. "Live it up while you can, old man. 'Cause when Mac hears about this, he's gonna have _both_ our heads."

Methos gave Richie an innocent look. "He won't hear about it from me. Are you planning to tell him?"

"I won't need to," Richie said with deep foreboding. "He'll know. He always knows. Just watch: some friend he ate caviar with a hundred years ago will just _happen_ to see us and mention it to him.  Wham! Instant karma-adjustment time."

"You're paranoid, Rich," Methos said, straddling the bike behind him.

"Just because I'm paranoid..." Richie began, starting the bike and heading towards Le Blues Club.

Joe was hovering in the doorway and, at the sight of them, looked visibly relieved. "I was wondering if you were gonna show, pal," he said.

"Just fashionably late," Methos replied, getting off the bike. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you've managed to get everything put to rights and just want me to come in for a pint?"

"Trying to dodge a little honest hard work?" Joe asked with a grin. "And you know as well as I do that the bar's off-limits to you. Speaking of which, does Mac know you're riding around town on the back of Richie's bike?"

"No, he doesn't," Methos said firmly, "and he's not going to find out, is he, Joe?"

Joe grinned. "He won't hear it from me, but you know Mac."

Methos sighed. "Not you, too. Richie's quivering with paranoid delusions about Mac's perspicuity." He turned to Richie. "Thanks for the escort today, Rich. I promise to take the full brunt of Mac's displeasure."

Richie grinned. "No problem. I wouldn't have missed seeing your gift for the world."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "A gift for Mac?"

"Not now, Joseph," Methos said. He handed Richie his helmet. "Watch your head, kid."

Richie grinned. "Always." He straddled his bike. "Better get going myself," he shouted over the engine. "Mac's expecting me at the barge for dinner." He roared off into traffic, deftly dodging cars and taxis, and Joe shuddered.

"Don't tell me you let that maniac drive you all over Paris?"

"Okay, I won't tell you," Methos said easily, heading toward the club entrance.. "Now, where are these things that need moving, and that any civilized man would have let his _staff_ handle?" He parted the curtains leading into the club area and stood for a moment, blinking in astonished confusion at the group of familiar faces looking expectantly in their direction.

"Surprise!"

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Japanese References**
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not an expert (or anything close) on Japanese weapons, so if I made any glaring errors in my research, I apologize. Also, regarding the Japanese phrases - I found at least 3 different spellings for each phrase, so I went with the most common. 
> 
> Japanese words:  
> Arigatou gozai-masu – Thank you (formal)  
> Dou-itashimashite - You're welcome  
> Kochira koso – The pleasure is mine 
> 
> Japanese sword terms:  
> Wakizashi – small sword (typically 28") used for self-defense  
> Tanto – long knife (typically 14-18")  
> Saya – scabbard  
> Habiki – wedge-shaped metal mounting that holds the blade tight in the scabbard  
> Fuchi/kashira – the front and end cap hilt parts  
> Tsuba – the handguard  
> Tsuka-ito – silk handle wrapping


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some members of the OnlyDuncanMethos yahoo mailing list are represented in part of this chapter, although some names have been slightly altered, sexes changed, or conjoined with others to protect the guilty.

Duncan's face lit up with a smile as he caught sight of his cousin coming off the plane. "Connor!" he called out, catching the other man's attention.  The lanky Immortal slowly threaded his way through the crowd towards him, followed by his three traveling companions. Duncan reached out to clasp Connor's arm only to be pulled into a brief hug before Connor released him and looked him over critically, a smile turning up one corner of his mouth.

"Well, you appear to be holding up well," he said. "No torn-out hair, complexion looks good, your eyes are clear and focused."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Connor..."

Alexandra patted her husband's arm. "It's all right, dear. He has a whole week to contemplate his approaching doom."

"Thanks a lot, Alex!" Duncan retorted, then hugged Connor's wife. "I was counting on you to protect me from his sick sense of humor."

She smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "If _I_ have to suffer, so do you." Alex took his hands between hers. "Connor told me about the baby," she said, softly so the two other members of their group couldn't hear. "I'm so happy for you. I know how much this means."

"Thanks," he said, equally softly. "It was a complete surprise, but a good one."

"And your young man? He's doing well?"

Duncan exchanged a brief look with Connor, reassured that Connor hadn't told her everything about his intended. "All things considered," Duncan said honestly. "He has his good and bad days. You know how it is."

"I've heard," Alex said with a grin, "and that's as much as I want to know. Who needs kids when I have Connor and Johnny around?"

Connor snorted at that, but Duncan looked around absently. "Speaking of which, where's Johnny?"

Connor and Alex exchanged a look. "John's being a little...difficult these days," Connor said. "He decided to stay at school."

Duncan's smile faded. "I thought he'd want to come. We got along so well...I thought he liked me."

"He does," Alex said quickly. "It's just...well, he's at a difficult age and you know how pre-teens are..." Her voice trailed off.

"I see," Duncan said quietly.

"Duncan," Connor said apologetically.

"It's all right," Duncan said heavily. "Like you said, he's at a difficult age." He drew in a deep breath and dredged up a smile as he turned to the woman waiting quietly to the side.

"Rachel," he said, his smile becoming genuine. "Thank you for coming at such short notice. I hope you had a good trip."

Rachel MacLeod smiled warmly at him. "It was not so bad," she said with a smile, her eyes twinkling at him. "Your cousin told me some very interesting stories about you."

Duncan gave Connor a mock glare. "Thanks a lot, cousin!"

"And I'm honored to be invited to such a special occasion. Congratulations," she said, kissing his cheek. "Your Adam seemed like a nice young man. I hope you'll be very happy."

Duncan smiled at her. "Thank you, Rachel."

Rachel turned to introduce the sandy-haired man with her. "Duncan, this is Malcolm MacWilliams. Malcolm, Duncan MacLeod." There was a slight flush to her cheeks as she performed the introductions and a glow in her eyes as she introduced Malcolm, and Duncan thought in amusement that weddings always seemed to fan romantic flames.

Malcolm smiled broadly as he shook hands. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. MacLeod. It's honored I am to be of service to you on this occasion."

Duncan gave Rachel a questioning look and she smiled at his confusion. "Malcolm is a piper, Duncan. His family has been Piper to the MacLeods for generations."

Duncan turned back to Malcolm. "Then it is I who am honored. Thank you for coming." He turned back to Rachel. "And thank you for bringing him. I've been trying to locate a piper here in Paris and haven't had much luck. I thought I'd have to give up the idea."

"And what kind of a wedding would it be without a piper to give you a proper send-off?" she asked. "But that's not all I brought with me."

Duncan's breath caught and his eyes lit up. "My...the family sword?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

The corner of her mouth lifted as she nodded her head in Connor's direction. "Your cousin was very persuasive," she said, amusement in her voice. "Almost as persuasive as your Adam was the last time I brought it here."

The corner of Duncan's mouth quirked up. "Adam can be _very_ persuasive," he agreed.

As they walked towards baggage claim, Duncan said, "Rachel, I've got a suite reserved for you at one of the hotels so we'll stop there first. Connor, I thought you and Alex might be more comfortable at the barge but I've also reserved a suite for you if you'd prefer."

Connor shook his head. "The barge will be fine, if we're not putting you out." An amused look was in his eyes as he said, "I suppose you've made...other arrangements for yourself."

Duncan flushed slightly under Connor's knowing look and he made an evasive answer, turning the talk to the next day's party instead. But somehow he had the feeling Connor wasn't going to let him get away with it, and that his cousin was just waiting for the opportunity to tease him about the babies. He sighed. It was going to be a long, long evening.

 

* * *

 

Joe watched Methos' stunned face as he took in the people assembled before him and the colorful banners and streamers. He held his breath and watched the startled look transmute into one of his rare and genuine smiles, and sighed in relief. Surprises were an iffy thing, and he'd been half-afraid Methos would turn on his heel and storm out. But instead, 'Adam Pierson' was emerging, and Joe felt as if he was seeing an old and well-loved friend after a long absence. No matter how amused and fascinated he was by 'Methos', the fact was he had known Adam a hell of a lot longer and missed him.

Methos looked over the assembled group and grinned. "Joe, you should really be more careful about locking up. All sorts of rubbish gets in when you're not looking."

Joe shrugged. "What can I say? They said they were thirsty."

"And I've seen how this lot drinks. This had better not be on my tick."

There were laughs and a hoot from the back of the crowd. "Don't tell me you're _paying_ your bar-bill these days, Adam!"

Methos grinned. "Of course not, Bert. Wouldn't want to give Joe a heart attack, now would we?"

He gave Joe a lopsided smile, murmuring that he'd get even in a way that made him laugh, and then Methos was dragged into the center of the waiting crowd. Hugs and back-thumping ensued, and one of the female Watchers he vaguely remembered from Records went so far as to plant a kiss on him, to the whistles and hoots from the onlookers.

"Hey," Sharon replied, smoothing back her hair and giving her colleagues a triumphant look. "He's engaged, not dead!"

Laughter greeted this sally, followed by calls for beer. Joe and his staff were already moving through the crowd, dispensing bottles and glasses, and Joe exchanged a look with Methos as he handed him one of the unobtrusive root beer bottles.

"Another one of your microbreweries?" called out Evan Cadfael, one of his fellow researchers, with a grin. "You're such a snob, Pierson. That stuff always tastes like crap."

Methos toasted him with the bottle. "You have no idea," he said dryly. There was more laughter, but then he caught sight of a familiar face and set down his bottle.

"Rae Cross?" He headed across the room towards the blond Australian grinning at him and, with a whoop, caught her up in his arms and swung her around. "It _is_ you! When did you get back? Last I heard, you and Taylor were heading to Peru in search of some lost temple."

Rae made a face. "Funding got diced so we're back here. And what about you, Adam? Still living the life of the idle poor?"

"Found some chap to make an honest man of him, you mean," laughed a young man with a cheerful and open face who came up and slung a casual arm around Rae's shoulders. "Lucky bastard."

Methos took in the pose and grinned. "What's this?" he said, gesturing between them. "Do I hear hints of Romance in the air - at last?"

"Like you should talk!" Taylor retorted. "But this is a bit out of left field for you, isn't it, mate? Marriage and all that?"

"Taylor's right. I nearly passed out when I heard." Rae gave Methos an anxious look. "Are you all right?"

Methos sighed dramatically. "The truth is the wanker knocked me up, and he's only marrying me to save my reputation and give the child his name. Ow!" he complained as Rae punched his arm.

"I'm serious," she said severely. "You know that if you need anything..."

"Anything at all," Taylor joined in, looking serious as well.

Methos felt a genuine warm flush fill him. It was always a pleasant surprise to him that mortals, with their terribly short lifetimes, could care so much and so easily for others. It seemed a skill most Immortals never mastered. Well, with the exception of a certain Highlander who took the notion to extremes.

"Thanks, but I'm fine." He saw Joe gesturing to him. "Look, I've got to go do the social, but don't go anywhere, all right? Not till we get the chance for a proper talk."

"We'll stay," Taylor said reassuringly and then grinned. "At least until the beer runs out."

Methos watched them head off to the bar, wistfully remembering a time not too long ago when the three of them had been inseparable. Back when they were all struggling grad students, when thoughts of the Game were far away and Duncan MacLeod was only a name in a Watcher's report. A time that seemed several lifetimes ago. He shivered slightly.

A touch of something cold against Methos' elbow made him glance around to see Joe standing there with a cold bottle in his hands. "You okay, buddy?" Joe asked quietly.

Methos drew in a deep breath. "Yeah," he said quietly, accepting the bottle of root beer from Joe. "And thanks. For all of this."

Joe's eyes met his, warm understanding in them, and his smile widened. "My pleasure, pal. Now come on. We've got a party to get kicked off, and right now the look on your face could kill a wake."

Methos gave him a mock-offended look. "What's wrong with my face?"

"Well, now that you mention it..." Joe ducked the cuff aimed his way and steered the guest of honor over to where the cake waited to be cut and presents unwrapped.

 

* * *

 

When they got back to the barge, Alexandra rejected Duncan's offer to send for take-out and took command of the kitchen, shooing the two men out of the way. Connor settled their luggage and then, realizing that Duncan had slipped out, went looking for him.

He found Duncan sitting on upper deck, his father's sword across his lap. "You look lost in thought," Connor commented, sitting down next to him. "Trouble in paradise?"

Duncan sighed. "I took a challenge earlier today, name of Saegar."

Connor nodded. "I've heard of him. Nasty customer. I take it all went well, though, since you're in one piece."

"It's not that easy. Methos wasn't happy about it."

Connor tilted his head, studying the younger Scot. "No, I don't imagine he was. Alex isn't happy when I have to take one, either, but she's accepted that this is part of my life. Methos knows that, too."

"You don't understand. He hasn't been part of the Game for two hundred years, not until I came along and dragged him back into it. All he wants to do is live his life in peace."

"That's what most of us want," Connor pointed out.

"Yes, but..." Duncan hesitated. "He thinks I make myself a target because I haven't changed my name in four hundred years, because I don't refuse a challenge."

Connor shrugged. "He could be right, Duncan. I know you don't go hunting, but you don't make an effort to hide yourself, either. And sometimes it's smarter to walk away."

Duncan gave Connor an annoyed look. "This from the man who knocked me out so he could fight Slan."

"You're _still_ bringing that up?" Connor asked, rolling his eyes. "Are you _ever_ going to get over that?"

"Probably not," Duncan said with a grin. "Especially since I had to finish the job _and_ drag you out of the river."

"Duncan, it was _years_ ago!"

"And your point would be?" Duncan said, his smile widening.

"Besides, it was payback for that time..."

"Now don't _you_ start!" Duncan protested. "That was over three _hundred_ years ago."

"And your point would be?"

Duncan gave him a mock-glare. "You always have to have the last word, don't you?"

Connor smiled, a twinkle in his eyes lighting up his usually serious face. "Of course. I'm your teacher. And don't tell me you don't pull the same thing with Richie because I won't believe you."

Duncan laughed, shaking his head ruefully. " _And_ you changed the subject."

" _I'm_ not the one who brought up Slan," Connor pointed out. He leaned back against the railing, tilting his head to look up at the sky. "Duncan," he said, a sober note back in his voice. "I cannot tell you what to do. I cannot tell you to change or not to change.  That is a decision only you can make."

Duncan sighed and looked down at the sword in his hands. "I don't know what to do, Connor. I'm going to have a family, and I don't want to put them at risk. And yet...I'm Duncan MacLeod. I've been that for over four hundred years. I don't know if I can change." He turned to look at Connor. "How did you do it?"

Connor shrugged. "I don't know. I never considered _not_ changing." He was silent for a moment, thinking. "Perhaps it has to do with our early Immortal years. I was lucky.  After my clan disowned me, I found Heather. And as for teachers, Ramirez was different from anyone I'd ever known. He was exciting, flamboyant, adventurous. I knew he had changed many times over his long life. I never questioned that I would change as well. Then after Heather died..." His voice trailed off for a moment. "Much of what was Connor MacLeod died as well. Becoming someone else seemed the right thing to do."

Connor turned his head to look at Duncan. "But you - for all those years before I found you, all you had to hold on to was your name, your identity. It was probably the only thing that kept you sane. And yet, perhaps I did you a disfavor when I became your teacher."

Duncan's eyes widened. "Connor, don't say that! You were a wonderful teacher!"

"Aye, but I was also familiar, part of the world you'd lost. With me, you could continue being what you had always been, rooting yourself in the image you'd grown up with. With another teacher, you might have been forced to change." Connor reached out to grasp Duncan's shoulder. "Lad, what you are, what is truly Duncan MacLeod, is much more than your name or appearance. It is what you are inside."

"I don't know if I can separate the two," Duncan said lowly.

"You will," Connor said quietly. "When it is time. Until then, stop brooding over it."

An engine roared down on the quay and both men looked over to see Richie ride up on his motorcycle. He got off and casually stowed his gear, not looking over at the two older Immortals although there was no way that he could have missed their Presence. Duncan's eyes narrowed.

"He's up to something," he said to Connor.

Connor chuckled. "You used to do the same thing," he commented, gesturing towards Richie. "When you'd done something you thought I wouldn't approve of, you'd spend so much time fussing over your horse or your sword or your clothing...I thought I'd have to sit on you to get you to talk to me."

"As I recall, you did," Duncan commented with a grin. "More than once."

"Aye, you were always a headstrong, not to mention thick-headed, student."

Duncan gave him an affronted look. "I am _not_  thick-headed!"

Connor rolled his eyes expressively but before he could say anything, movement on the quay caught their attention again. Richie appeared to have wasted as much time as he thought he could get away with because he left the motorcycle and casually strolled towards them. Too casually.

"Hello, Richie," Duncan said, carefully setting his father's sword aside. "Good timing. Dinner will be ready shortly."

"Good," Richie said, a nervous smile on his face. "I'm starving. It feels like I haven't eaten anything since breakfast." Belatedly recalling that Duncan knew he'd been doing escort duty for Methos, he stammered as he added, "Not that it's been that long. Since I ate, I mean. Because we had lunch at the old guy's place."

"Richie - "

"And that's another thing," Richie said explosively. "I'm not a kid anymore!"

Duncan blinked. "Of course you're not."

"Me- Adam calls me 'Rich'. And he doesn't treat me like a kid!"

"Since when?" Duncan said with a snort. "Just last week you were complaining about- "

"That was last week. Things change."

"Uh-huh." Duncan's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to, Richie?"

Richie gave him an incredulous look. "Me? Why would I be up to something?"

"Because I know you, and because you're acting like you've got a guilty conscience."

"Yeah, well, Mac, you don't know _everything_ ," Richie snapped. "But if that's what you think, then I'm outta here! I'm going back to Joe's.  At least he doesn't give me the third degree every time I turn around."

The young Immortal stormed back down the gangplank and roared off on his motorcycle, leaving them to exchange a puzzled look.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Duncan asked.

"He's _your_ student," Connor pointed out, then frowned. "Perhaps that's the problem. Maybe it is time you turned him loose."

Duncan gave his own teacher an exasperated look. "I did. _Years_ ago."

"And yet you continue to rescue him from his own folly instead of letting him solve his own problems."

"Isn't this the pot calling the kettle black?" Duncan pointed out. "How many times have you just shown up when you thought I was in trouble?  Case in point, my marrying Adam?"

"That's different," Connor said. "I only interfere once every decade or so."

"Uh-huh," Duncan said skeptically.

Sensing he was on indefensible ground, Connor hastily switched subjects. "You should send him to me for awhile. It'd do him good to have a change of teachers. To breathe good Highland air and eat good, healthy cooking."

"Only if _you're_ not doing the cooking," Duncan said. "There are laws about torture now."

Connor gave him an affronted look. "And what's wrong with my cooking? It didn't kill you to eat it, did it?"

"Not permanently," Duncan said with a grin. "But thank God for Immortal healing."

Connor tried to cuff him upside the head but Duncan ducked, laughing. "The young have no respect for their elders these days."

"You forget the company I keep," Duncan pointed out. "Hang around with Mr. Been-there-done-that-invented-the-T-shirt and see what respect _you_ have left."

"I knew he'd be a bad influence," Connor said with a mournful sigh.

Duncan grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "In more ways than one."

Connor burst out laughing. "You are impossible. And speaking of that subject... twins?"

"Now, don't start!" Duncan warned him.

"Must be that good Scottish breeding," Connor said musingly. "They say blood will tell."

"Connor..."

"Or maybe it's all the practice you've had over the past four hundred years. _How_ many partners have there been? I suppose you had time to figure out how to do _something_ right."

"That's it!" Duncan pounced on his cousin, and a spirited wrestling match ensued.

When Alex came up a few minutes later to tell them that dinner was ready, she found them rolling around the deck, cheerfully exchanging obscenities and punches. She sighed; _the only difference between men and boys_ , she thought, and went back inside to put dinner aside to keep warm.

 

* * *

 

After several hours of dedicated revelry, they'd wound down to a couple dozen dedicated partiers conversing and drinking at scattered tables. Methos leaned back in his chair, observing the room through half-open eyes, a half-empty bottle of root beer in his hands. The buffet table looked like locusts had descended on it. The table beside it was littered with discarded wrapping paper and assorted gag gifts, ones he was determined would _not_ find their way home with him. The room was a shambles and he guessed it would take Joe and his staff a couple hours to put it to rights. All in all, he thought with bone deep satisfaction, a very good party.

Joe was chatting with a couple of his older Watcher friends at the bar, and Methos' two grad school friends and three Watchers occupied his own table. Researchers like himself, they had shared many an evening like this back during his less-complicated years with the Watchers. Nights spent talking shop in some bar over a couple of bottles of beer, mornings gossiping over coffee in the headquarters' basement, they had been the closest thing he'd had to friends, with the exception of Don Salzer.

All five were settled around the table in different stages of inebriation, although Rae seemed the most sober.

Which wasn't saying much, he thought in amusement, as she leaned across the table, and gave him an earnest, half-drunk look. "So, what're you going to do once the honeymoon's over? You're not giving up your career for this bloke, are you?"

"After all the work it took to get that doctorate?" he said with a snort. "I should bloody well say no!"

"Well, that's odd because I heard you turned down Stoddard's offer."

Methos made a face. "Field work isn't my area."

"Too right," snorted Taylor. "Hard to keep the beer cold in the back of Bourke, eh, mate?"

"And besides, he really needed one of you Anthro types, not a linguist."

"If _I_ was marrying Duncan MacLeod," Renee Miller, the female Watcher sitting on Methos' right said, "I'd say screw work."

Allen Graves, the Watcher sitting on Methos' other side, snorted. "Nah, Renee, you'd say 'screw me, MacLeod'!"

Renee lifted her glass. "Damn straight!  He could eat crackers in my bed _anytime_."

Taylor leaned on one elbow and fixed Methos with a look. "Everyone's been buzzing about this MacLeod bloke like he's God's Gift." He leaned closer and leered drunkenly. "So, tell us all about it. The good bits, mind."

Methos flushed. "Taylor!"

Rae punched her partner's arm. "Behave, you yobbo," she said severely.

"No, seriously," Renee said, leaning closer. "We want to know if the stories are true."

Methos gave her a disbelieving look. "You really expect me to kiss and tell?"

"Damn straight," Evan Cadfael said, straddling a chair between Allen and Rae. He placed his beer bottle with exaggerated caution on the table. "Think of it as providing valuable research information to your former colleagues."

"As if," Methos said with a snort.

"Oh, come on, Adam!" Renee said beseechingly. "We're stuck in the bowels of the library with boxes of dusty books, and you're having the Affair of the Century with Duncan MacLeod, of all people!"

"Yeah," Allen piped up. "The least you can do after ruining the betting pool is give us some juicy details."

Methos took another sip from his bottle and then sighed. "All right, but don't blame me when you're disappointed." He paused dramatically and leaned closer, saying in hushed tones, "Duncan MacLeod drools in his sleep."

"No!" Renee said, aghast.

Methos nodded his head, sadly. "I'm afraid it's true. And snores something dreadful. I can't tell you how many nights I've had to put a pillow over his face, just to get any sleep."

"Adam!" Renee said, smacking him indignantly. "You're making that up!"

Methos ducked his head, laughing, as the others threw balled-up napkins at him. "You _asked_ ," he pointed out. "Don't blame me if you don't like the answer."

"Bastard," Allen said good-naturedly, elbowing Methos with a grin. "And a damn lucky one, at that."

"If you ask me," Evan said, picking at the label of his beer, "MacLeod's the lucky one."

Methos flushed slightly and ducked his head. "I wouldn't say that," he said quietly.

"Allen's right," Renee said loyally. "You're young, good-looking, with that to-die-for accent.  You know you broke a lot of hearts when Joe told us about you and MacLeod."

"Yeah," Allen said with a wicked grin. "The entire place was in black for a week: half for MacLeod and half for you."

"So you work together then?" Taylor asked, giving the other three a curious look. "For a library, like?"

"Research organization," Evan supplied.

"Adam quit a year ago," Renee added, smiling at him wistfully. "We still miss the bastard. The new chap in your slot is a bloody prick."

Methos shrugged. "Not everyone was that unhappy to see me go," he said, the tone of his voice reminding them of the reason he'd left: his supposedly new immortality.

"Ah, so that's why they're giving you the flick." Taylor made a face at one of the groups at a nearby table that was watching them covertly, and they hastily turned their attention away.

"Cheeky bastards," Rae snorted. "They'll come to your party and your wedding to snatch up free food but can't be bothered to make nice to your face."

"Actually, they're not coming to the wedding," Methos said quietly, staring at the tabletop. "And neither are these guys, right?"

Taylor gave the three an incredulous look. "Why ever not?"

"Work," Evan said, not looking up from his bottle. "Big project push. Couldn't get time off."

Rae's lips tightened but she said lightly, "You can count on me, mate. Although I suppose I have to wear fancy dress."

"Too right," Methos said with a grin.

"Well, all right, but only for you," she said with a put-upon sigh. She exchanged a look with Taylor and stood up. "We'd better toddle. Long day and all that."

Methos nodded. "I'll give you a ring later, shall I? Have you over to dinner one night to meet Mac, if you'd like."

"We'd like that." Rae moved around the table to kiss Methos' cheek. "Later, love."

After they left, an awkward silence fell around the table. Allen cleared his throat and tired to steer the conversation back to safety. "Evan's right. MacLeod's a lucky bastard to get you. You make sure he treats you right, hear?"

Methos frowned and Renee caught his arm. "Adam, we're just worried about you. You're our friend, and we don't want _anyone_ taking advantage of you."

Methos sighed. "You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"Right," Evan said skeptically. "You're a new Immortal, you've been thrown in the deep end of the pool with MacLeod and all the sharks that circle him. You tell us not to worry and I can tell you, pal - ain't gonna happen."

"I'll be fine," Methos began, and then the tingling sense of Immortal presence made him sit up straighter and turn his head towards the door. Richie Ryan stood in the doorway, looking surprised by the obviously private party, and Joe went towards him.

Methos relaxed back in his seat, acutely aware of the stares from the others at the table. "What?" he said, irritated.

"I've heard about that but I've never seen it," Allen said, his voice tinged with awe.

"That's Ryan, isn't it?" Renee asked, eyeing the young Immortal with interest. "MacLeod's protégé?"

"Yes," Methos said shortly.

"You don't think Joe invited him?" Evan asked, concern in his voice. "The Council will have a fit if they find out.  You're supposed to be the only Immortal here."

Joe was pointing that out at the moment. "Richie, what're you doing here?" he asked.

"What, a private party, Joe?" Richie asked, taking in the banners. "You had a bachelor's party for Adam! Cool!"

"Yes. A _very_ private party."

"Oh." Richie suddenly realized that he was the focus of several intense looks and that several had Watcher tattoos on their wrists. "Gotcha." He cleared his throat and said, loudly, with one of his best smiles, "Sorry, got my dates wrong.  I'll, um, just leave..."

Methos watched the young Immortal as he stammered out an apology, flushed with embarrassment, and couldn't believe what he was about to do. Yes, the young man had been good company today and yes, he was Duncan's student, but when had any of that caused him to do something stupid like this? And the fact that he was suddenly extremely pissed off with the Watchers had _nothing_ to do with his reaction.

"Rich!" he called out, and the young man paused, looking in his direction.

_Say good-night,_ his protective inner voice advised. _Say good-bye. Just don't say-_

"Come join us."

_I told you not to say that_ , his internal voice said reproachfully, but the bright grin on Richie's face drowned it out. Methos sighed and sourly reflected that Duncan MacLeod was wearing off on him in a way that didn't bode well for his future sanity. Maybe Julian should give up on his Immortal-fertility studies and come up with an inoculation against MacLeodism instead.

"What brings you back here?" he asked resignedly. "I thought Clan MacLeod was having a dinner celebration back at the castle."

Richie rolled his eyes as he sat down. "Mac was going into over-protective mode big time and I am so not into hearing one of his lectures. I _told_ you he'd find out about earlier."

"You told him?" Methos asked in disbelief.

"You think I'm crazy?" Richie demanded. "I told you, the man has this weird psychic thing going on. Take my advice, Adam, and steer clear of him tonight."

"Thanks, I will," Methos said absently, keenly aware that the Watchers at the other tables were all discreetly making their way to the door, bidding Joe a quiet good night but carefully not looking in his direction. Even his three friends looked uncomfortable, having lapsed into silent staring at their bottles again.

He sighed. "It's okay," Methos said quietly. "You don't have to stay, and thanks for coming tonight."

The three exchanged a look and simultaneously smiled and relaxed.  Evan gave him a crooked smile. "Trying to get rid of us, Adam? Just when things are getting interesting?"

"Yeah," Renee chimed in, leaning forward on one elbow and grinning at Richie. "You won't tell us any good stories about MacLeod, but I bet Mr. Ryan has _lots_ of stories to tell."

Richie blushed under the intent look she gave him. "Call me Rich, please. And as for stories about Mac..." He sat back with a grin. "I expect I could tell a couple."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Great. Where's Joe? I need another beer to get through this."

"Bar's closed to you," Joe said, slapping down a beer bottle in front of Richie, bottled water in front of Methos, and mugs of coffee in front of the others. "Mac'll kill me if you show up hung-over tomorrow." He sat down wearily. "The things I get stuck with, being your Best Man."

"Speaking of which," Allen said casually, "What has an old friend got to do to get an invite to a wedding around here?"

Methos' mouth dropped open.

"Now that you mention it," Evan said, "My invitation seems to have gotten lost in the mail, too. Renee?"

She shook her head saying, "Mine, too. And I have the perfect dress picked out."

A grin crossed Methos' face and he deliberately slouched in his chair. "The French postal system," he said with a shake of his head. "It's a disgrace. Fortunately, I know a chap who can get some extra invitations. Next Saturday, Valincourt estate, 4 pm sharp." His smile widened. "It's going to be one hell of a wedding."  

 


	33. Chapter 33

It wasn't until Duncan had bid goodnight to Connor and Alexandra, climbed into his car, and started the engine that he realized he didn't have any place to go for the night.

He sat there for a few minutes, feeling cut adrift. Methos had told him not to come over, said that they needed some "space". He couldn't go back inside; he would look like an idiot, plus Connor and Alex had been giving each other steamy looks all evening. He couldn't go to Joe's because Richie was using his guest room and besides, he knew he'd never hear the last of it from his Watcher. He could go to a hotel, but the thought made him feel unsettled and uncomfortable. Which was ridiculous because it wasn't like he'd never stayed at a hotel. But for some reason, sleeping anywhere without Methos made him feel cold inside.

The more he thought about, the more irritated he became. They'd been spending a lot of time together lately but, hell, they were getting married! Couples were _supposed_ to do that! And it wasn't like he couldn't keep his hands to himself if Methos was tired. He wasn't an insatiable, unfeeling monster, was he? Besides, what if some Immortal tracked Methos back to his place. He'd be helpless. Well, not _helpless_ exactly, but vulnerable. And something inside Duncan told him he needed to be there, needed to be close.

His mind made up, he shifted the car into gear and headed towards Methos' apartment. The worst that could happen was Methos would throw him out on his ass and he'd be no worse off than he was now. Besides, if he was lucky, he could slip in and settle down on the couch without Methos being any wiser. The two of them had become so comfortable around each other that their buzzes had become familiar enough to be ignored. Or maybe it was something to do with that shared Quickening. Whatever it was, he was almost certain he could crash on the couch, get up and out for his jog before Methos woke in the morning, and innocently turn up afterward.

The apartment was dark when he entered, and the faint wash of Methos' Presence over him made whatever had been jangling at his nerves settle. He frowned at that and wondered why Julian hadn't mentioned this side effect. Come to think about it, there were several things that Julian hadn't mentioned. He'd have to pin the doctor down and pry more out of him the next time he saw him.

Duncan set his bag on the floor out of the way and stealthily made his way over to the couch. He eased off his shoes, then contemplated getting undressed and decided against it. After his impromptu brawl with Connor, he'd showered and changed into a pair of sweats, and they would be comfortable enough to sleep in. Especially since it appeared Methos had removed the throw that usually hung over the back of the couch and he didn't want to risk waking the other Immortal by searching for a blanket. Duncan lay down on the couch, careful not to make any noise that might awaken the other man, and closed his eyes with a little sigh.

His eyes popped open a few minutes later. He was cold and the couch was decidedly uncomfortable. He wrapped his arms across his chest to try to warm up but that didn't help much. What he really wanted was the feel of body heat along his, and it didn't help knowing that what he needed was only a few feet away. He sighed and tried to quietly shift his body to the other side.

"MacLeod."

Duncan froze, hoping that Methos was just muttering his name in his sleep.

"What are you doing here?"

Duncan swore under his breath. "Um, sleeping?" he said weakly.

There was a sigh from the direction of the bed. "Did we, or did we not, agree that you'd stay at your place tonight?"

Sullenly, Duncan said, "Connor and Alex are staying there."

"MacLeod, there's this wonderful invention, not new actually, called a hotel."

"Fine," he snapped. "I'll go to a hotel."

"Good."

He reached for his shoes, jamming his feet into them. "It's not like I don't have other places I can stay."

"Right," came an irritatingly calm voice through the dark. "Lock up on your way out."

"Although why I should go to a hotel when you have a perfectly good couch is beyond me," Duncan said, snatching up his bag. "Lord knows you've crashed on _my_ couch often enough."

"Mac, you're sulking."

"I'm _not_ sulking," he said defensively.

"Mac."

"I think I'd know if I was sulking and I'm definitely not sulking."

"Mac."

"I'm going," Duncan said huffily, heading towards the door.

"Shut up and come to bed, you idiot."

Duncan dropped his duffle bag and stripped down to his briefs in record time.

 

* * *

 

Duncan woke in the early morning hours, aware of a feeling of warmth and deep contentment. He was wrapped around his lover's body, his chest pressed against Methos' back and his right arm encircling the slender waist. His nose was buried against the back of Methos' neck, right where his lengthening hair brushed his neck, and the scents of his lover's hair and body were oddly soothing. He felt like he could stay like that forever.

The demands of his bladder said otherwise, and Duncan reluctantly eased himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. After relieving himself and brushing his teeth, he decided he felt too awake to go back to bed. To sleep, at any rate, he corrected with a grin at himself in the mirror, and he had a feeling that his lover would have his head if he tried to wake him before he was ready to get up, even for sex. Methos' fatigue was easing up but the other man still seemed to need more sleep than usual. And considering that he'd relented enough to let Duncan back into his bed last night, Duncan thought the least he could do was let him sleep.

A run sounded like a good idea, and he headed for his discarded clothes. A flash of reflected light from the kitchen area caught his attention, and he glanced in that direction briefly. Then, as realization of what he had seen caught up with him, he stopped and turned to stare.

Sitting on the dining room table was something he was positive he'd never seen before today. And, given that he was in and out of Methos' apartment as often as his own barge these days, he would have noticed this.

The stand was simple and unadorned, designed not to detract from what it held, but there was no question that it was handcrafted from the finest woods. There were three cradles to the stand, the bottom one empty, and he had no doubt that his katana would fit there perfectly. Just like he had no doubt that the swords in the other two slots had been designed as companions to his katana.

With hands that shook slightly, he reached out and reverently lifted the wakizashi from its place in the center berth. His hands caressed the smooth wood of the saya. He knew fine workmanship when he saw it and this was the best he'd seen since he'd left Japan. He pulled the blade free from the saya and examined it with an expert's eye for detail. Not as fine as his or Connor's, but it had been crafted by an expert and it was not a modern reproduction. Careful and expert polishing couldn't hide the fact that this was an old, old weapon.

He slid it back into the scabbard and studied the hilt closely. The wrapping was pure white silk, and the fuchi and kashira had obviously been designed to match the dragonhead on his katana. It was apparent that a lot of thought and planning had gone into this gift, for there was no doubt that these had been crafted specifically for him.

"Duncan?"

"Here." His voice sounded rusty, as if it hadn't been used in a long time, and his throat felt oddly constricted. Carefully, he set the small sword back in place and examined the tanto.

Arms wrapped around his waist and a slightly scratchy chin rested on his bare shoulder. "You like?" a soft voice breathed into his ear.

"I - " A thousand questions echoed inside his head: when had Methos been in Japan, how had he gotten these exquisite weapons, how had he managed to find someone with the skill to fit them out to match his katana. But he couldn't even begin to ask and besides, questioning a gift as incredible as this seemed in supremely bad taste. "I love them," he managed to say, setting the long knife back in its slot. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A kiss was pressed against the side of his throat, and it was as if that movement burst a dam inside him. He turned and pulled Methos against him, kissing him with fervent passion before sweeping him up in his arms and carrying him to the bed. A laughing protest was cut off as he followed Methos down, then he was kissing Methos and being kissed back with an intensity that scattered rational thoughts to the winds. All Duncan could think about was worshipping this beautiful, irritating, fascinating, surprisingly generous man with every faculty he possessed.

Boxers and T-shirt were stripped away so that every inch of warm flesh could be freshly catalogued with lips and tongue. He memorized every sweet spot, treasured every moan and hoarsely muttered obscenity that fell from his lover's lips. His hands caressed the firm flesh, teasing responses and opening the way for the joining of their bodies. He buried his nose against the warm skin of his lover's neck, inhaling the intoxicating scents of sex and sweat. His hips pumped slowly, drawing out each thrust and retreat, taking them both to the edge of release before easing back, until the siren song of completion was too loud to ignore.

His eyes greedily drank in the sight of his lover moving under him, pale flesh flushed with heated desire, slender neck tilted backward, dark head tossing on the pillow. Words in a dozen languages, some familiar and some not, flowed over him and then Methos was arching under him, gasping as if there wasn't enough air in the universe to breathe but somehow managing to say his name over and over.

Fire crackled up Duncan's spine and rushed through all of his nerve endings as heat spilled out of him and into the beloved body beneath his. He shuddered through the intensity of the storm besetting him, feeling the circuit completed once more, the mysterious connection between them annealed once again by the fires of their passion.

With a sigh for the loss of connection, he slipped out of his lover's body but it seemed Methos was unwilling to let him go any further away than that. Duncan let his strong hands pull him down along Methos' firm body, willingly resting his cheek against the muscled chest that still labored to draw a regular breath. He turned his head slightly to kiss the sweaty flesh and felt rather than heard the soft rumble of laughter beneath his lips. Fingers, elegant and strong, gently carded through his tumbled hair and he felt himself drifting into a pleasantly sated sleep.

The chest under him rumbled again and his brain made the connection that Methos was speaking. He lifted his head to give his lover a look, part affection and part exasperation.

"You want to talk _now_?"

Methos grinned. "Brain still off-line?"

"I think it's permanent," Duncan said, laying his head back down on his human pillow.

"Then I suppose it's too much for you to answer a simple question."

"Like what?" Duncan asked cautiously.

He could feel Methos laugh again, and grinned in response. "Like why did you come over last night?"

"Complaints?" Duncan asked, not even trying to disguise the smugness in his voice.

"Not a one. Just...curious, I suppose."

"You know what they say about curiosity and cats," Duncan murmured, oddly reluctant to answer.

"Duncan."

On the other hand, when Methos said his name like that, there was very little Duncan could refuse the man. He wondered if Methos knew and was thankful that, if he did, he didn't take advantage of it.

Duncan sighed. "I missed you."

"Mac - "

"I know, I know. But it was more than that. It was..." Duncan paused, trying to figure out how to explain the strange feeling of separation, the cold in the pit of his stomach, the almost aching tug he had felt pulling him towards Methos' place. "I _had_ to come. I felt...empty."

He heard Methos sigh and felt the gentle fingers move down to his back. "Damn. I had hoped you wouldn't have to go through that."

Puzzled, Duncan raised his head and looked into his lover's eyes. "Does it have to do with this bond between us? With the babies?"

"Yes. It's part of that need to protect us, a need to stay close for defense."

Duncan grinned at Methos. "Well, I can certainly think of worse things than needing to be with you all the time." He pressed a kiss against Methos' throat. "Especially when we can have mornings like this."

"You're insatiable," Methos complained, even as he tilted his head to the side to give Duncan better access.

"I'm insatiable?" Duncan protested. "I'm not the one wriggling like a cat in heat."

"What is this thing you have for comparing me to a cat?" Methos asked, annoyed. "I am _not_ a fluffy, pampered pet!"

Duncan grinned. "No, you're like one of those Egyptian cats. Sleek, aloof, rarely deigning to grace us lesser creatures with your company. Not to mention this habit you have of sprawling all over the furniture. It's obvious."

"Only to you," Methos said skeptically. "In case you didn't notice, I've stopped 'wriggling'."

"That's fine," Duncan said, yawning. "I'm sleepy right now anyways."

He settled his head more comfortably on Methos' chest and closed his eyes. He felt Methos laugh again and fingers threading through his hair. And just before he drifted into sleep, he thought he heard Methos murmur something in a soft, warm tone of voice that sounded vaguely like forever.

 

* * *

 

Duncan had just finished tidying away the dishes from their brunch when Methos emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a robe and trailing steam behind him.

"Your suits arrived while you were in the shower," Duncan told him, gesturing towards the open wardrobe door where he had hung the padded garment bags.

"Good," Methos said, vigorously toweling his hair dry. "I was afraid I was going to have to go to the party in the all-together."

Duncan grinned as he put away the omelet pan. "Much as that would amuse the other guests, I don't think I'm up to taking on that many challengers."

Methos rolled his eyes and strolled over to check that the right garments had arrived. After putting the tux for his wedding in the wardrobe, he unzipped the other garment bag and pulled out the suit with a sigh. "Amanda _would_ decide to throw a formal party."

"How else could she show off her latest designer dress, or the jewels she's stolen?" Duncan asked with a grin. "And speaking of parties, how did yours go last night?"

Methos turned and looked at Duncan with narrowed eyes. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew," Duncan said then, seeing the look in Methos' eyes, put up his hands defensively. "Hey, Joe swore me to secrecy! Besides, I just found out about it yesterday."

"You could have told me."

"What, don't like surprises?"

"Only when I know about them in advance."

Duncan snorted at that. "Defeats the point, doesn't it?" Methos gave him a look. "Joe was just trying to do something nice for you."

Methos laughed softly. "Relax, Mac. I didn't kill anybody. Yet."

"Nice."

"As a matter of fact, it was a good party, all things considered. Richie crashed it."

"He said he was going to Joe's," Duncan said with a grimace. "I forgot to warn him."

"It's all right. The bash was nearly over and we had a good time talking."

Duncan looked over at Methos as he wiped down the counter. "Did Richie seem to be acting strangely to you?"

Methos shrugged. "No more than usual."

Duncan frowned slightly. "He was acting guilty and blew up when I even mentioned it. You wouldn't happen to know anything, would you? You two spent most of the day together."

"I'm not exactly Richie's confessor, Mac."

"It's just...I hope he's not in trouble."

"He's a big boy, Dad," Methos pointed out. "Shaving and everything."

Duncan glared at him. "I know that. I just thought you might..."

Methos decided it would be a good plan to divert Duncan's attention from Richie, knowing that the young Immortal would crack under questioning. "By the way, I ran into a couple of old friends at the party last night. You think Gina would mind extra guests for the wedding?"

It worked. Duncan grinned, pleased at the idea that friends of Methos' would be there. "Gina is prepared for twice as many guests as we've invited; I think she'll cope. Are they Watchers?"

"Three are; the other two are old friends from grad school," Methos said as he wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He made a face at the contents and pulled out a bottle of fruit juice. "I thought I'd invite them to dinner one night. You'll like them."

"I'm sure I will, as long as the three of you don't spend the entire evening talking in some language that died a thousand years ago."

Methos grinned, tossing the bottle cap on the counter. "They're anthropologists, not linguists. From Australia; did their undergrad work in aboriginal studies at Curtin University before coming here."

"They're a bit far from home." Duncan retrieved the cap, adding it to the trash. "Let me know what night you want to have them over and I'll make something special." He tied off the trash bag and pulled it out of the can, setting it by the door to take out later.

It was then that he noticed a large plastic bag tucked behind the couch. "Hey, what's this?"

Methos' eyes widened and he dove for the sack. "Dammit! I told Joe to toss those!"

Duncan interposed his body between his lover and the bag, sensing a story here. "Why? What's in it?"

"Leave it alone, Mac!" Methos made a valiant effort to get to the bag but Duncan had already opened it and pulled something out. Methos groaned and sank down in the chair, dropping his head back and closing his eyes.

Duncan stared down at the item in his hands. For a moment he was stunned and then a wide grin broke over his face. "Methos?" he asked, holding it up. "You want to explain this?"

Methos covered his face so that he wouldn't have to look at the silk boxers Duncan was dangling from one finger. Black silk boxers covered with little red hearts.

"Not quite your style, old man," Duncan commented.

"They're gifts," Methos said from behind his hands. "Tacky gifts. Someone got the idea that this would really, really embarrass Adam, so everyone at the party turned up with something truly tasteless."

"Off-hand, I'd say they were right," Duncan said, eyeing his lover's flushed face with a grin. "So what else is in here?"

He tossed the boxers down on the couch and reached into the bag. "Condoms?" he said, pulling out a large box. "And not just _any_ condoms: flavored and extra large. I'm flattered."

"Who says they're for you?" Methos retorted, watching with something between amusement and horror as Duncan tossed the box aside and delved again with both hands.

"Edible briefs," Duncan announced, looking at one treasure, "flavored lubes, and an edible body painting kit. I'm sensing a trend."

"Yes, well, I think we've had enough fun for one morning," Methos said, getting up and reaching for the bag.

"Speak for yourself," Duncan said, moving it out of reach and fishing out something else. " 'Sock in a Jock: enhance your masculine image'," he read off the box. "I could have told them that you _definitely_ don't need this."

"Who said it was for me?" Methos said, resigning himself to the inevitable.

Duncan laughed and tossed it onto the couch with the other gifts. He pulled out something white and filmy and raised his eyebrows. "Let me guess: virginal white, sheer, sexy - must be something for you to wear on our wedding night. Highly impractical - I'd prefer you to wear _nothing_." He dropped it and pulled something else out of the bag. "On the other hand, _this_ I'd love to see you in."

Methos snatched the leopard thong out of Duncan's hands and buried it under the couch cushions. "Dream on, Highlander."

"Now, _this_ has possibilities," Duncan said, studying the box in his hands." 'Naughty  & Nice, a playful collection for adventurous lovers'. Oh look: massage oil, love cuffs, mask, blindfold, and a mini whip!" He waggled his eyebrows at Methos. "Should we pack it for the honeymoon?"

"I'd suggest burning it, but some of those lotions are probably toxic to breathe."

"Now this hurts," Duncan said, pulling out a box labeled "Anna the Inflatable Ewe" and staring at it.  "I have much better taste."

Methos crossed his arms, a smile tugging one corner of his mouth. "Actually, _that_ I found highly amusing and appropriate. And so kind of them to bring a gift for you."

"Thanks," Duncan said ironically, tossing the blow-up doll onto the growing pile. He pulled out the next item and burst out laughing. "Oh, look, dear: a tuxedo g-string, complete with tails. It'll go so well with your tux. And it appears to be just the right size, too. However did they know?"

"Don't laugh. There's a matching 'bride's' version with the cutest little veil - and we did agree that _you_ were the bride."

Duncan snorted. "Sorry, but I'm a traditionalist."

"Yeah?" Methos asked, his eyes gleaming. "So that would mean you're going _au natural_ under that kilt?"

Duncan grinned at him and leaned close enough to brush his lips across Methos'. "You'll have to wait till our wedding night to find out."

Methos grasped Duncan's hips and teased his lips with his tongue. "Can't I get a preview?"

"It's unlucky to see the bride in her gown before the wedding," Duncan murmured.

Methos grinned. "You don't really believe that, do you?" he asked, deepening the kiss. When he didn't feel Duncan's answering smile, he pulled back slightly and looked at Duncan in surprise. "You do, don't you?"

"Let's just say I prefer not to take any chances," Duncan said, then, as if realizing that his somber tone was dispelling the mood, he kissed Methos quickly and dumped out the remaining contents of the bag between them.

"And I suppose a quickie in the closet between the ceremony and the reception is out of the question," Methos said, crossing his arms.

Duncan chuckled as he sorted through the remaining items. "Well, we're certainly prepared for it," he commented, holding up 'A Little Quickie - the Essential Kit for people on the go.' "I think your friends are hung up on sex. Must be all that peeping into Immortals' bedrooms. Just tell me that none of these came from Joe. Lie if you have to."

Methos laughed. "What, embarrassed to think that your Watcher might have contributed to this collection?"

"Hell, yes. Bad enough that he's writing reports about my sex life without knowing he's the one who gave us the 'Honeymoon treasure chest' or 'Wedding night kit'." He looked down over the pile of gaudy boxes. "What are we going to do with all this stuff? Can't throw it in the trash; your neighbors would have fits."

Methos nodded, surveying the goods between them. "Only one thing _to_ do."

"Right," Duncan said. He grabbed one of the boxes. "First one to the bed gets the chocolate warming oil."


	34. Chapter 34

Duncan pulled his car into a parking spot near Le Blues Club and turned off the engine, then looked over at his lover. Methos was staring morosely out the window, but even the scowl on his face couldn't mar the fact that he looked incredibly good tonight. The expensive new suit complemented his lean frame unlike his usual bulky sweaters, and a frisson of pleasure ran up Duncan's spine at the thought of introducing this man to his friends.

"Ready?"

"Not really, no."

Duncan heard the reluctance in Methos' voice and gave him an amused look. "Nerves, old man? You?"

"Of course not. I appear to have mislaid a cufflink, so you go on in and I'll nip back to the flat, find the little bugger, and come right back."

"Riiiight. If I let you out of my sight, I won't see you again for a week." He got out of the car and went around to open the car door, pulling Methos out.

"Is this really necessary? Trapped with a bunch of strange Immortals for four bloody hours, and I can't even have a drink to make the evening bearable."

"It's necessary."

"I don't see why," Methos grumbled. "I don't know these people and they don't know me. Look, why don't you and your friends have a nice get-together and I'll go back to the flat, crawl into bed, and have a nice read. Or better still, we can _both_ crawl into bed and see what comes up."

"Methos, even Immortal healing can only go so far. I'll be lucky to get it up again by our wedding night."

"Young people these days," Methos said with a mock sigh. "No stamina."

Duncan ignored that, steering Methos towards the entrance. "The whole point is that it's a party for _both_ of us."

"I'm not in the mood for a party. And you know how I am when I get like this: sarcastic, irritable and irritating..."

"And this would be different from your usual behavior in what way?"

"Your friends will wonder what the hell you see in me."

Duncan stopped and wrapped both arms around his lover. "No, they won't. They'll be too busy being envious of me." He kissed Methos. "Have I told you how incredible you look? And how much I love your sarcastic, irritable, and irritating attitude?" He kissed him again, deeper this time, until he felt Methos relax.

"That was unfair, Mac," he murmured.

Duncan chuckled.  "I know. You're rubbing off on me, old man."

"I wish," Methos quipped, a slight smile on his lips, and he wriggled against Duncan.

Duncan hugged him once more and then released him. "Come on, let's go inside." As Methos still hesitated, he teased, "Don't worry. I'll protect you from the big, bad Immortals."

Methos gave him a withering look. "Not funny, Mac."

"Seriously," he asked, opening the door. "Anything I should know like old acquaintances with a possible grudge? Old lovers?" He tried to keep his tone light so that Methos wouldn't know how much that bothered him.

A corner of Methos' mouth quirked up as he entered the back hallway. "Worried, Mac? Was that a hint of jealousy I heard?"

"Maybe," Duncan said evasively.

Methos laughed. "Mac, three-fourths of the people coming to this party have been romantically involved with _you_ , but you don't see me foaming at the mouth about it."

"It's not three-fourths!" Duncan said indignantly. "Half, maybe. And I am _not_ foaming."

"Yes, you are," Methos said smugly, "but it looks good on you." He sauntered into the main room of the club ahead of Duncan with an air of having scored a hit. Duncan grinned and followed him, relieved that Methos' mood had lightened and that he wasn't upset by Duncan's jealousy.

As they entered the club, Duncan braced himself against the rush of so much Immortal presence in one place. He saw Methos pause as well, and they surveyed the assembled crowd together. The room was about three-quarters full. Amanda would be pleased by the big turnout for her party, Duncan thought.

A shriek from across the room made Methos wince.  Duncan had to admire the way Amanda could run like that in high heels. "Where have you been?" she demanded. "The guests are arriving; I was worried you weren't coming."

Duncan smiled at her and kissed her cheek. "Relax, Amanda. We're here, aren't we?"

"And a damned good thing after all the trouble I went to," she said tartly, then relented enough to return the kiss. She turned her head to look at Methos who was nonchalantly studying the crowd and pointedly ignoring them. "My, he cleans up nicely, doesn't he?" she asked with a sideways grin at Duncan.

"Hands off," he said, smiling, although he knew Amanda detected the slight edge to his humor. "He's taken."

Amanda rolled her eyes at him. "I think you'd better go get a drink. It might help loosen you up. And don't forget: this is a _party_ , not a brawl." She turned her full attention on Methos now, determined to coax him out of the mood he appeared to be in. "Adam, darling, you look splendid tonight!"

Methos gave her an amused look. "So do you," he said, letting his eyes run over her appreciatively. "You are absolutely riveting. No one will be able to take their eyes off of you."

She grinned back at him and slipping her arm through his. "You say the sweetest things. Unlike some _other_ people." She cast a roguish look back at Duncan as she led Methos off. "Don't worry, Duncan; I'll take good care of him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Duncan muttered, watching as Amanda steered Methos towards a cluster of women and began making introductions. Cries of delight drifted towards him and he felt his lips tighten. Damn it all, _he'd_ wanted to introduce Methos to his friends!

He had little time to brood, though, as his friends descended on him, full of congratulations and questions. Kyra kissed him and demanded to know details, while David Keogh shook his hand with his characteristic solemnity.

"Congratulations, Duncan. You deserve some happiness."

"Thanks. I hear you're doing well in that area as well."

A smile warmed David's face, and he turned to introduce the woman with him. "Amy, this is Duncan MacLeod. Duncan, my wife, Amy. We've been married four months now." The look he gave the petite blond with him was fond, but Duncan was relieved to see that it had no hint of Keogh's former obsession with women he loved.

"Congratulations," Duncan said, taking her hand and smiling at them both.

"Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather," Kit O'Brady said, joining them. "Settling down at last, and with a man, Mac?"

Duncan shrugged. "What can I say? Adam's an extraordinary young man."

"He must be," Kyra agreed, looking over at the knot of women around Methos. "The other ladies appear to find him interesting as well."

"Including my wife," Terence Coventry said, handing Duncan a Scotch. "Good thing I'm secure about her affections, or I might have to challenge your young man, Mac."

"As if Mac would allow that," Cory Raines said, slapping Duncan on the back and making him spill part of his drink.

"I think they are very beautiful together," Gina said, joining them. At Duncan's embarrassed protest, she said insistently, "But you are! Such a sweet young man, even if he did kill my beloved Robert."

There was a slight gasp from the group and heads swiveled to look at Duncan, but Gina didn't seem to notice as she continued airily, "It was all a mistake, of course, but I can never forget that dear Adam was trying to help."

"Long story," Duncan said hastily, to forestall the questions he could see in his friends' faces. "Gina, do you have a moment? There's a detail about the wedding we need to discuss."

After he pulled Gina to the side, he said, with exasperation, "Gina, you need to stop telling people that! It gives them the wrong impression about Adam."

She opened her eyes wide at him. "But Duncan, surely if _I_ am not upset with Adam, then others cannot be." She patted his cheek affectionately. "You worry too much." Gina turned back to the group, readily answering Kyra's questions about the forthcoming wedding.

Robert stepped up next to Duncan and said, quietly, "Don't worry, Duncan. Gina means well, and I'll make sure no one comes after Adam when he was just trying to help. Although I doubt that he needs to worry about challengers. He's damnably good for such a young Immortal."

The look in his eyes told Duncan that Robert didn't believe that for a moment, and he sighed. "How did you figure it out? Something I said or did?"

"No, something _he_ said, just before our fight, about something that happened eight hundred years ago. And I know Julian doesn't take students.  Was Adam one of Rebecca's? Amanda appears to know him quite well."

"Adam doesn't talk about his teachers," Duncan said evasively.

"Do not worry, my friend. I won't give him away, and if it amuses him to pretend that he is a young Immortal..." Robert shrugged.

Duncan caught sight of two people entering the club, both looking a little uncertain, and excused himself to Robert. "Rachel, I'm glad you came, and I want you to meet Adam," he said, kissing her cheek. "But first, Malcolm, I'd like to introduce you to Gina de Valincourt. She's planning all the details of the wedding, and she's been anxious about finding a piper."

He led them over to Gina and then, as Gina latched onto Malcolm with exclamations of delight upon hearing that he was the piper, he hastily withdrew. He glanced around the room and saw that Methos was still engrossed with his little harem of women. He caught the eye of Carl Robinson and Annie Devlin as they stood talking together across the room and nodded a greeting to them, but didn't see Connor or Alex anywhere. Duncan frowned; it wasn't like Connor to be late, and he hoped that Trouble hadn't come looking for Duncan only to find Connor instead.

"Duncan!"

A familiar voice caught his attention and he turned to see a young brunette heading his way. "Michelle! I didn't know you were coming!" He hugged the young Immortal warmly.

Michelle Webster looked up at him laughingly. "As if I'd miss your big day! Amanda told me _all_ about your young man and I'm _dying_ to meet him."

Duncan smiled down at her. "I'll introduce you in a minute, but first let me take a good look at you." He held her out at arms' length and looked her over. "You look wonderful! What have you been doing with yourself? Amanda said that after you left her, you went back to school."

She made a little face. "Yeah, I decided I needed to do something with my life so I'm making an effort. And you can save the 'I told you so' speeches for later." She gave him another impulsive hug. "Enough about me.  Where's this guy who's stealing the best-looking Immortal?"

There was a burst of laughter from the knot of people surrounding Methos and he said, dryly, "There. The one mesmerizing half the women in the room."

Michelle rolled her eyes at that exaggeration since there were only a dozen  encircling the other man. "Oh, you're in _that_ kind of mood. I'll get Amanda to introduce us."

Before he could say a word, Michelle had hurried off towards her former teacher, leaving him to watch Amanda making the introductions. He could see Methos taking the young Immortal's hand in his while he said something that made her blush and laugh at the same time.

"Careful, Mac," said a familiar voice beside him and he turned to see Joe holding a glass out to him. "They can hear your teeth grinding clear across the room."

He turned away from the sight of his intended being cooed over by the cluster of women. Taking the glass from his friend, he tossed the contents back in one fluid movement.

"I thought you'd be pleased that the old man is making such a good impression," Joe said, his sharp eyes studying his friend.

"I am. I just wish that the entire female population wasn't hanging all over him," he growled, setting the glass down with a snap.

"What, you'd rather it was the _male_ population?" Joe asked with a grin. "Relax, Mac, and trust him. You know the old man is nuts about you. Hell, he's _marrying_ you in a week."

Duncan sighed. "You're right, Joe. I'm not usually like this. It's this damned bond between us. It makes me feel uncomfortable when any Immortal is too close to him."

"Yeah, well, you better get over it or he'll hand you your head for washing," Joe advised. "Look, I gotta get ready for the first set. You gonna be all right?"

Duncan nodded, his eyes still on the growing cluster of people around Methos, and Joe patted his arm sympathetically before heading towards the stage. Duncan sighed and turned back to the bar, ordering another Scotch.

"Duncan!"

He turned his head at the sound of another familiar voice calling his name and smiled as his cousin and his cousin's wife made their way over to the bar. "Hello, Connor. Glad you could make it," he said, pointedly looking at his watch.

"Blame me for making him late," Alexandra said, kissing his cheek. "I couldn't decide what to wear."

Duncan smiled and said, "How can I blame you when the results are so spectacular?"

Alex grinned and shook her head, never one to be overwhelmed by flattery. "So where is this young man of yours?"

"Even knowing Adam such a short time, I would guess he's in the center of that melee," Connor said, gesturing towards the group gathered at one end of the room.

Duncan sighed. "And you'd be right."

Alex arched an eyebrow. "And you left him in their clutches? Are you crazy?"

"Not crazy enough to get between a pack of women and their prey!" Duncan retorted.

"Coward," Alex teased, grabbing him by the hand. Duncan let the determined woman tow him over to the cluster of women, and their approach caught Methos' attention. He gave Duncan a look of appeal, and Duncan couldn't help grinning as he felt his jealousy abate.

"Hello, Adam," he said, arriving at his lover's side. "I see that you and the ladies are getting better acquainted." He hid a wince as Methos trod on his foot. "Mind if I borrow him for a bit?" he asked.

"That's not fair," Carolyn Marsh said with a pout. "You can have him any time, and we were so enjoying Adam's stories."

Duncan gave Methos a quick, questioning look and Methos looked at him innocently. "I know how that can be," Duncan said dryly. "And I promise to return him." He drew Methos away from the crowd of women over their protests.

"Thank God!" Methos said fervently. "Mac, how could you abandon me like that? Those women are bloody vultures! There was no aspect of our lives sacred to them!"

"Yeah, well, you looked like you were really suffering," Duncan retorted. "What was it you said to Michelle to make her blush?"

Before Methos could tease him about being jealous again, Duncan heard a throat clear and glanced over to see Alex waiting patiently. "Alex, I'm so sorry," he said. "This is my fiancé, Adam Pierson. Adam, this is Connor's wife, Alexandra."

"Dr. Alexandra Johnson?" Methos said, smiling as he took her hand. "This is an honor. I've read your articles about the excavations on the Valtos peninsula in the Hebrides with great interest. The wheelhouse site, in particular, was fascinating, and I understand that the results from Varavat and Berie will allow you to work out a local pottery sequence which will serve as a model for the region."

Alex was clearly startled. "I didn't realize you were interested in archaeology, Mr. Pierson."

"Actually, it's _Docto_ r Pierson," Duncan interjected, with an apologetic look at Methos for forgetting.

"But please call me ‘Adam'," Methos said smoothly. "After all, we're going to be family."

"And you must call me Alex," Alexandra said warmly. "Is your doctorate in archaeology?"

"Linguistics."

Alex's eyes lit up. "Oh, you're _that_ Dr. Pierson! The one who translated the inscriptions on the artifacts from the excavation at Mitchell's Brewery in Lancaster?"

_Translated_? Duncan thought in amusement. _He's probably the one who wrote them in the first place. And a brewery - how appropriate._ He caught the twitch of his lover's mouth and thought that the old Immortal had probably guessed his unspoken words.

Methos gave a modest shrug. "I contributed to the translating team, yes."

"Contributed?" Alex turned her head to include Duncan in the conversation. "The amount of Roman material recovered at the site was incredible, but there was one piece in particular, part of a gold necklace, that appeared Eastern Mediterranean in origin and totally out of place with the other artifacts. Dr. Pierson -- Adam -- was able to translate the inscription and determine both its place of origin and age, which was over 100 years before the Roman fort was built." She looked back at Methos. "Even knowing now that you're Immortal, I still think that was an incredible bit of work."

Duncan didn't like the speculation in her eyes and had a feeling that her next question was going to be about his real age. Even though he knew Alex could be trusted with many of their secrets, he had a feeling that Methos wouldn't want this one divulged. Time to deflect her thoughts to another track.

He gave Methos a mock-glare. "I refuse to let the two of you talk shop tonight. Especially after you abandoned me earlier."

"I abandoned _you_?" Methos said in disbelief. "You let Amanda _ambush_ me, Mac! Pretty shocking behavior; you owe me a drink at the very least. I'm parched."

"You're right," Duncan said promptly, then turned to Alex. "If you'll excuse us, Alex?"

"Of course," she said, an amused smile on her face. "Can't have poor Adam dying of thirst, can we?"

Methos smiled brightly at Alex, then looked back at his intended. "I like this one, Mac. She knows the value of keeping me happy."

"Don't encourage him, Alex; he's bad enough as it is." He brushed a kiss over her cheek. "I expect at least one dance with you later," he said, steering Methos towards the bar.

"Nervous, Mac?" Methos asked softly.

"Cautious. Alex is too smart for you to play games with. She figured out Connor's secret without even knowing that Immortals existed."

"Relax, Mac. I'm not exactly a novice. I've been doing this for a long, long time - longer than Connor. She won't figure out who I am."

"I did."

Methos cocked his head and gave Duncan an affectionate smile. "So you did."

That smile warmed Duncan and it was with difficulty that he forced himself to look away from his lover to order drinks for each of them at the bar. The impulse to take Methos in his arms and kiss him senseless was so strong that he cast about wildly in his thoughts for something to divert his rising libido. "So that's where you were last year? A dig site at an old Roman brewery?" he teased. "Is there nothing you won't do in the name of good beer?"

"Hey," Methos protested, making a face as he sipped his tonic water. "I have fond memories of that place. I spent many an enjoyable hour there."

Duncan chuckled, then his smile softened. "That necklace was yours, wasn't it?"

"One of my wives," Methos amended.

"You must have loved her very much, carrying it with you for so long."

Methos nodded. "Her name was Sarah, and she...helped me sort out some things after I..." He paused for a moment, unsure about broaching a topic that was still uncomfortable between the two of them. "...left the Horsemen. I had to leave it behind when I left rather suddenly. I'm glad it turned up."

"I'm glad you had someone," Duncan said. He wondered what it would be like to see your own history dug up by archaeologists, tried to picture a time a thousand years in the future when someone would dig up part of his past and attempt to make sense of it. The thought of someone pawing over the remains of the loft or his barge was disturbing. The realization that Methos had gone through that, not once but many times, awed him. And not just that he'd gone through it but he'd rejoiced that something so personal, so intimate had been uncovered even if he would never possess it again.

It was another facet to the complicated person he'd chosen to spend his life with. Duncan couldn't take his eyes off his lover and was aware of Methos catching his breath in a surprised kind of way. He knew that he was leaning closer to Methos, unable to stop himself, and the old Immortal had closed his eyes, his tongue tracing his lips briefly. Duncan didn't care who was watching him.  There was no one else in the world at the moment. Just him and -

"Duncan!"

Methos grimaced, recognizing the imperious tone as the sound of clicking heels approached them. "Prepare to be boarded," he muttered just loud enough for Duncan to hear.

Duncan laughed softly and squeezed his arm. "Only by you, old man," he murmured. Reluctantly, he released Methos and turned to greet the woman approaching him. "Hello, Claudia," he said, kissing the cheek she presented him.

"Duncan," she said warmly and then, with a tone of condescension, "Adam."

"Nice to see you again," Methos said blandly. "So glad you could take time out of your busy schedule for our little occasion."

Claudia shot him a look full of daggers, then smiled sweetly at Duncan as she slipped her hand in his arm and began leading him off. "I was so surprised to get the invitation.  You didn't say one word in your last letter." She squeezed Duncan's arm possessively and threw a challenging look over her shoulder at Methos. "I expect you to tell me _everything_."

Methos watched them go off in amusement, not in the least bothered by Claudia's possessive air. He knew Duncan thought of her as a student, like Richie, even if she had refused to train with him, but Methos had no interest in watching her manipulate Duncan. Instead, he turned to scan the rest of the room, looking for the one person who could possibly blow his cover. From here it was easy enough to spot his quarry and move towards him.

Marcus Constantine was talking with a beautiful young woman, one vaguely familiar from the Watcher files, so it was easy enough for Methos to move close to him without notice. Methos waited until the woman had moved away before saying, quietly, "Hello, Marcus."

Marcus turned, his eyes widening. "Mercurius!"  He smiled and reached out to grip Methos' arm as a soldier's would. "It's been too long. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"Oh, here and there," Methos said with a grin. "Mostly there."

Marcus threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, you always preferred shadows."

"Well, not all of us look so good in the spotlight," Methos said with a rueful grin. "And, as I recall, you took advantage of that fact."

"Are you still holding a grudge over that girl in Verona? You shouldn't. You were well out of that one, my friend." He shuddered. "A virago, in truth. And what she cost me...After four hundred years, I still have nightmares about it." He shook his head. "So, what brings you to Paris? Business or pleasure?"

Methos shrugged. "I live here now."

"Really?" Marcus looked surprised, then smiled. "Ah, yes.  Your student, Julianus. I understand he also lives here in Paris, and that he is Pierson's teacher." He leaned forward slightly. "I must admit that this whole affair has me puzzled. Duncan MacLeod settling down with some young Immortal, and a man at that?"

"You think it impossible?"

"Not impossible but unlikely. If Julian is teaching Pierson, then he must be a decent sort, but I always thought MacLeod was attracted to Immortals older than himself." He looked across the room to where Duncan was standing with Amanda, having somehow shaken Claudia, and gestured. "Our light-fingered friend there, for example. Young Pierson must be something special to have caught him."

"I'm just a guy, Marcus," Methos said quietly. "Nothing special at all."

Marcus' head jerked up and he stared at him. "What do you mean?" Then his eyes widened as he took in Methos' full meaning. " _You're_ Adam Pierson?"

A little smile crooked Methos' mouth. "Guilty as charged."

"But.." Marcus blinked, then glanced back over at Duncan. "Does _he_ know? That you're not a new Immortal?"

Methos nodded. "He knows."

Marcus gave him a shrewd look. "But not many of the other guests know, am I right? They think you're a youth instead of two thousand years old. And you don't want me to, as they say, blow your cover."

Methos shrugged. "There are a few who know I'm not a new Immortal, but no, I don't want it to become common knowledge."

"You're running a risk, you know," Marcus said gravely. "Sooner or later, someone is bound to arrive who knows the truth."

Methos shook his head. "Doubtful. So many of the Old Ones I knew are gone: Darius, Rebecca, Paul. The rest don't know me or are friends, like you and Julian." He looked Marcus squarely in the face. "I _can_ still count on you as a friend, can't I?"

In reply, Marcus studied Methos. "May I ask a question?"

"I take it that your answer is dependent upon mine," Methos said shrewdly. "Ask."

"Why Duncan MacLeod?" Marcus said bluntly. "Granted, it's been centuries since I saw you last, but as I recall, you made a habit of avoiding 'Immortal entanglements'. Casual liaisons, perhaps, but nothing serious. So why this one?"

Methos sighed. "Hell if I know," he said, equally frank. "There's just something about the man that worms its way into you and takes over. _Not_ the most sensible thing I've ever done, but there you are."

A slow smile bloomed on Marcus' face. "You're in love," he said, amused. "The man who told me that falling in love with an Immortal was suicidal at best."

Methos gave him an irritated look. "Don't rub it in. And who's to say I was wrong?" Realizing this might have come out too bluntly, considering the recent events in Marcus' life, he said quietly, "I heard what happened, by the way. I'm sorry it ended so badly."

A shadow passed over Marcus' face. "You were right. It _was_ impossible, but I couldn't help myself. She was..." He shrugged his shoulders in a slightly helpless gesture. "Irresistible. And I cannot regret what we had."

"I know."

Marcus gave him a look of partial amusement. "The devil of it is that you probably do. MacLeod isn't the safest Immortal you could have taken up with."

"Ah well, one should live dangerously at least once during a lifetime," Methos said lightly.

"Dangerously, indeed." Marcus paused. "Along those lines, you do know that Ceirdwyn is coming to the wedding, don't you? She couldn't come to this party but she'll be here next week."

Methos frowned slightly. "I know, but I couldn't ask Mac to leave her off the guest list. She's fond of Duncan. Hopefully, she won't cause a scene in public."

"Just the same, you'd better watch your head," Marcus advised. "Or have MacLeod watch it. Speaking of which, your knight approaches."

Methos turned his head to see Duncan coming towards them, determination on his face. He didn't know whether to be angry or amused by the way Duncan was charging through the crowd to his rescue. He settled for annoyed.

"Hello, Marcus," Duncan said, sliding a proprietary arm around Methos. "I see you've met Adam." There was a definite warning tone in his voice and Marcus smiled. Methos scowled.

"Rather, renewed our acquaintance. Mercurius - Adam - and I are old friends."

Duncan raised an inquiring eyebrow and Methos gave an exasperated sigh. "Not that kind of friend, Mac. Marcus and I go back to Julian's early Immortal years."

Duncan interpreted his lover's words as meaning that Marcus knew that he was old but not his true identity. He grinned mischievously. "We'll have to talk later," he said to Marcus. "I'd love to hear stories about his younger days."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Methos protested.

"It's only fair," Duncan pointed out. "You know all about my young and foolish years."

"That's because they're still happening," Methos retorted.

"Diplomatic as always," Julian's voice drawled as he joined them. "Hello, Marcus."

"Julian," Marcus said, nodding his head at the doctor, a glint of humor in his eyes. "I hear that you're teaching this uppity young Immortal."

Julian gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm doing my best, but I believe it's a lost cause. No style, no form, no stamina - I'm surprised he's survived this long."

Methos scowled at them. "I'm not going to stand here and be insulted. I'm getting a beer."

"Oh, no, you're not!" Duncan and Julian said in chorus, and Marcus raised an eyebrow. Before he could question their reaction, Duncan said quickly, "I want to dance with Adam before those women get their hands on him again."

Duncan led Methos towards the cleared dance area as Joe's band changed to a jazzy version of "How Little We Know".  "You have _got_ to be kidding," Methos protested under his breath, fully aware of the eyes on them.

Duncan gave him an amused side-look. "What, afraid to dance with me?"

Methos gave him an irritated look. "I am not about to make a spectacle of myself for- umph!" He gave a grunt of protest as Duncan pulled him into his arms. "You know, you have an appalling habit of not taking ‘no' for an answer?"

Duncan grinned. "So I've heard. Now are you going to talk or are you going to dance?"

"Do I have a choice?" Methos grumbled as they adjusted their stance to a foxtrot hold and began moving to the music, Duncan leading.

"Not much," Duncan replied.

Duncan had always loved dancing with a lover in his arms, and Methos was no exception. Methos was surprisingly good at the foxtrot, especially since he was in the 'woman's' position, and Duncan resolved to ask him about it later. In private. And maybe see what other kind of dancing the old Immortal did.

At the end of a quarter turn, he leaned forward to kiss Methos briefly. Methos made a contented rumbling sound so like a purr that Duncan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and teasing Methos once more about his cat-like ways.  Instead, since he didn't want bloodshed in the middle of their dance, he kissed Methos again. "Enjoying yourself, old man?"

Methos laughed softly. "Immensely. How soon can we leave?"

Duncan moved through a promenade step, easily guiding his partner. "We just got here, and you said you were enjoying the party."

"No, I didn't. I said I was enjoying myself _now_. But not as much as I could be enjoying this moment if we were in complete privacy."

Duncan let his growing passion show briefly in his eyes. "Don't tempt me."

"I thought you said healing had its limits."

"Obviously not where you're concerned."

Methos gave him an amused look and relaxed. He was aware that they were being watched, that appallingly sweet comments were being whispered about them, but he didn't care. For the moment, it was enough to be held like this, moving together to the rhythm of the music.

Still, there was no point in letting Duncan think he had won. "No dipping," he said firmly, "and next dance _I_ get to lead."

Duncan smiled at him, a look of fond amusement combined with love and lust in his eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, everybody dance! [ Here's the music that Duncan and Methos are dancing to - "How Little We Know" ](http://diana.slashcity.com/miscon/Music/How%20Little%20We%20Know.wav)
> 
> And if you don't know how to Foxtrot, [ here's a web site with info and demo movie clips. ](http://www.ballroomdancers.com/Dances/dance_overview.asp?Dance=AFX) And your mother said you wouldn't learn anything from reading slash. The only thing missing is a picture of our dancing Immortals...


	35. Chapter 35

Methos bade goodnight to Joe, thanking him and Amanda for the engagement party, which had turned out to be a surprising success. Well, surprising to him. Joe and Amanda and Duncan had seemed to take for granted that it would go smoothly.

Duncan had already made his farewells and had gone to get the car but, as Methos turned to join him, he found that the Scot had only gotten as far as he sidewalk next to the car. He was standing with his hands in his coat pockets, his head tilted back, his eyes closed as he hummed to himself. Methos vaguely recognized the tune as the first song they had danced to and couldn't help grinning.

"You're looking pretty pleased with yourself," Methos said, leaning on the car and crossing his arms as he stared at his lover.

Duncan grinned and opened his eyes. "I should be. How many times did I get you out on the dance floor?"

"Too many damn times," Methos retorted, although truthfully it had been fun to dance with Duncan. Not only was he a skillful partner, although his following technique could use some work, but it had given Methos a perverse feeling of satisfaction when Duncan quickly returned to him after his interludes with female partners. Methos had a healthy self-esteem but he reasoned that anyone might be forgiven for expecting Duncan to abandon his male lover when so many beautiful women were ready, and eager, to dance with him. Duncan had done his duty by the female population tonight, without a doubt, but Methos was the only one he had danced with more than once.

"And you loved it," Duncan said smugly.

"Well, one must put on a good front before company - for appearances' sake."

Duncan grabbed the lapels of Methos' coat and hauled him closer. "That was a very good front I felt during the samba," he murmured against Methos' lips. "Quite a nice...display." He kissed Methos quickly before releasing him. Duncan unlocked the passenger side and then went around to the driver's side.

"Nothing like the display you and Amanda put on," Methos retorted. "Amazing how much better you can tango when you're on solid ground, isn't it?"

Duncan leaned his elbows on the hood of his car and grinned across at Methos. "Jealous? I would have tangoed with you, but you said I couldn't dip you, remember?"

"Just remember that both Nick and I carry guns and we're not afraid to use them."

"You _are_ jealous! And here you were saying that I was the only one foaming at the mouth."

"MacLeod, shut up and get in the car or you're sleeping on a bench in the park tonight."

Duncan's grin widened but he did as instructed. On the drive to Methos' apartment, he picked up his lover's hand and rubbed the knuckles. Those long fingers were so sensitive that he'd found he could get Methos' motor running just by stroking and kissing them. Not to mention his equally elegant and sensitive feet, but rubbing them would be awkward at present.

"It was a wonderful night," he said, pulling Methos' hand to his lips. "Thank you."

Methos gave him an amused look. "Aren't you supposed to give me that line at the front door? Right before you try to sneak a kiss and then tempt me into inviting you in for a nightcap?"

"Afraid for your virtue?"

"You forget that _I'm_ not the bride here, plus I'm already damaged goods."

Duncan's smile broadened. "Then maybe it's I who should be worried. Do you intend to have your wicked way with me tonight, sir?"

"Yes," Methos purred. " _Oh,_ yes."

 

* * *

 

"I thought I'd invite two of my college friends over for dinner tomorrow night," Methos murmured. "Any objections?"

Duncan burst into laughter. Coming right after an explosive climax for both men and with Methos still buried balls-deep inside of Duncan, it was such a ludicrous non-sequitur that he couldn't help himself. "And you talk about _my_ post-coital conversation."

Methos lifted his head from Duncan's chest and grinned. "Dropped you down to earth too quickly, Mac?"

"Right to the ground," Duncan said mournfully. "Damaging my fragile ego. I'm so shattered, I won't be able to get it up for weeks."

Methos snorted. "That'll be the day."

"Of course, you _could_ help by whispering reassuring words to me."

"I could, hmm?" Methos shifted slightly, slowly sliding out of his lover's body and then back in. Duncan gasped and Methos leaned down to murmur into his ear. "Something like how bloody hot you are like this? How I love the way you feel around me. How I can never get enough of you. Is that what you want to hear?"

Duncan groaned and clenched his legs tighter around Methos' waist. "Yesssss."

"Do you want to hear how I love looking at your body? How a glimpse of skin when you unbutton your shirt at the neck makes me want to lick and bite you right at that spot and then pull off all your clothes and taste you all over? How the way the sunlight gleams on your hair makes me so hard that I'm indecent in public? How every time I slide inside you as we make love, I begin to believe in redemption?"

"Methos," Duncan groaned, throwing his head back and clutching at his shoulders. "God!"

"You've spoiled me for anyone else," Methos said, his voice harsh with effort as he moved more rapidly within his lover. The bed rocked with the force of their lovemaking, thumping against the wall with each thrust.

"I'm...glad..." he gasped.  "No...others... "

"Yes!" Methos shuddered into completion, feeling his lover convulse under him. Too exhausted to be polite, he collapsed onto his lover's body and tried to remember how to breathe. Duncan's chest heaved under him and he felt his legs fall limply to the bed, making Methos' spent cock slip out. He was too tired, too sated to even complain at the loss of contact, especially since Duncan was wrapping his arms around him and kissing his sweat-soaked hair.

"How does seven o'clock sound?" Duncan murmured. "I can cook fish and you can fix that decadent dessert you made last week."

"Hmm?" Methos asked blankly, and Duncan chuckled softly.

"Your friends? Dinner? Tomorrow night?"

"You and your post-coital conversations," Methos said crossly. "Not one bit of sense. I'm going to sleep."

Duncan laughed and snagged the sheet with one foot, pulling it up enough to grab and tug over the top of their sweaty bodies. Methos muttered something before drifting back into sleep, and Duncan wasn't far behind him.

 

* * *

 

"Well, look who managed to drag themselves out of bed and grace us with their presence," Joe said as they entered the bar the next day. It was just before noon and the place was deserted except for Joe and Richie sitting at a table sharing an early lunch.

"Joe, I don't know how you manage to come up with so many clever remarks," Methos said with mock admiration.

"It's a gift," Joe said modestly.

"Then you should see about returning it."

"Very funny, old man." Joe gave him a once over and grinned. "You look well...rested."

Methos pulled over a chair, straddling it. "I am. Sleeping through the night, no more nausea; it's amazing what a difference that can make."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can, buddy," Joe advised. "It won't be too long before you'll be bitching about clothes that won't fit and swollen feet and sending Mac out in the middle of the night for pickles and ice cream."

Duncan snorted. "I can only wish that it'll be something _normal_. He'll probably want food  that hasn't been heard of since Nero's time."

Methos looked thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, sea urchins sound pretty good. On vanilla ice cream."

"Yuck!" Richie said with a shudder. "You had to say it, didn't you, Mac?"

Duncan grinned, glad that Richie was talking to him at last since the younger Immortal had avoided him almost completely at the party. "Don't laugh, Rich. I might be calling _you_ in the middle of the night to run errands."

"Not wanting to be a bother here, guys, but a man could die of thirst before anyone noticed," Methos complained.

Duncan chuckled, going behind the bar to pull out bottled water for his lover. "Can I get anything for anyone else?"

"I'll take a beer, Mac," Richie said, getting up and joining Duncan at the bar. "Joe?"

"I'm fine."

Richie leaned on the bar, looking hesitantly over at his mentor. Being on the outs with Duncan made him uncomfortable. "Mac, about what I said a couple days ago...I'm sorry about blowing up at you like that."

Duncan smiled, waving his hand dismissively. "It's all right. I expect a day spent with Methos would put anyone on edge."

"It wasn't like that at all," Richie said hastily. "He was pretty decent."

"Yeah, didn't treat you like a kid."

Richie flushed. "I didn't mean that. I appreciate everything you've done for me, Mac."

"I know you do, Richie - Rich," Duncan said. "And I appreciate the way you've put up with me, too."

Richie flushed, clearly embarrassed by Duncan's words. "That's okay, Mac." He looked around for something to talk about and caught sight of the tanto tucked in Duncan's belt. "Hey, that's one of the swords he gave you, isn't it?"

Duncan nodded. "How did you know about them?"

"I was with him when he picked them up. It was incredible, Mac. The shop we went to looked like _nothing_ , and the owner was this little old Oriental guy. I couldn't believe it when I saw those swords. Methos said he's one of the best at restoring weapons like that."

"Sounds interesting," Duncan said. "I'd like to go there. Do you think you remember how to get there?"

"I don't know, Mac," Richie said doubtfully. "Methos gave the directions, and we wound through so many side streets and alleys.  If we hadn't been on the bike, we wouldn't have..." He stopped abruptly, aware of what he had just said, and squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching up his face. "Shit."

"Are you telling me," Duncan said, in a voice of deadly quiet, "that you took Methos around town on your motorcycle?"

"I - "

"Is _that_ what you were trying to hide from me the other day at the barge?"

"I can explain," Richie said hastily.

"I imagine you can," Duncan said grimly, "but I'm well aware whose idea it was." He straightened and turned towards the table where Methos and Joe were laughing about something. With purposeful stride, he walked over to them.

"Methos, I need to talk to you."

Methos looked up and caught the thunderclouds on Duncan's dace and, looking past him, the misery on Richie's. "So talk."

"Alone."

"I think not," Methos said coolly, picking up his bottle and drinking from it. "You can talk in front of Joe and Richie."

"All right. Would you mind telling me what the hell you were doing riding all over Paris on Richie's motorcycle?"

"Just that," Methos said calmly. "We had errands to run, I didn't have my vehicle, and Richie had his bike." He shrugged as if to say that was the end of the matter.

"And that's all you have to say?" Duncan exploded. "I don't suppose it was important enough for you to mention to me!"

"Not really, no."

"You could have been hurt! There could have been an accident - "

"Hey!" Richie said. "Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence, Mac!"

Duncan ignored him. " - and all that jostling can't have been good for the babies."

Methos gave a long-suffering sigh. "Mac, would you _think_ for a minute? Women have been having babies for millennia and doing their _normal_ work up until the time they dropped. A century ago, I can't tell you how many of my pregnant clients were still riding to the hounds at six and seven months."

"It's not the same. Women are designed to carry babies."

"So are Immortal men, apparently, if you remember Julian's little lecture."

"Not while riding all over the damn city on a motorcycle! What if something had happened to you? All we need is for you to end up in the hospital. If any mortal finds out about your condition, you'll disappear before you can say 'secret government lab'."

Methos ground his teeth together. "It didn't happen."

"I'm a safe driver, Mac," Richie said, entering the fray. "Methos was fine with me."

Duncan turned back towards Richie and sighed. "I know that _you're_ safe, Richie, but what about other drivers? All it would take is a drunk behind the wheel - "

"Which could happen even if he was riding in a car," Richie pointed out.

"It's more dangerous on a bike."

Methos closed his eyes and counted to ten. "MacLeod, you can't wrap me in cotton and stick me on a shelf somewhere for the next six months! And if that's what you have in mind, you can just have another think!"

Duncan turned back to Methos, stalking over to loom over the seated Immortal. "I can have another think? I'm not the one who needs to change his mind here!"

Methos looked up, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I don't think so," he said, his tone cold as ice. He stood up, grabbing his coat, and headed towards the door. "Coming, Rich?"

Richie glanced over at the fuming Scot and decided that "away from there" would be a good place to be. Besides, he was pissed at Mac, too, for implying that Methos wasn't safe riding with him. "Right behind you, man."

Duncan stared at the doorway in stunned surprise after they left, then looked at Joe. "Joe? What just happened here?"

Joe shook his head. "What just happened is that Methos told you where to get off, and I don't blame him." At Duncan's frown he said, "He's a grown man, Mac, not a child. Not a helpless mortal for Duncan MacLeod to protect. Give him credit for knowing what he's doing."

"But dammit, Joe! You know I'm right!"

"I can see your point of view, Mac, but I can also see his."

"But - "

"But nothing." Joe leaned on the table and said seriously, "Look, buddy, I know how much these kids mean to you but you gotta ask yourself who means more - Methos or them?"

"Methos, of course. There's no question."

"Then you gotta let him have space to make his own choices, even if you don't agree. The man's not stupid, Mac, and wouldn't have survived this long without a healthy sense of self-interest. So let him do what he does best."

Duncan sighed. "I suppose you're right. I'll go find him and apologize, if he hasn't thrown all my stuff out on the curb."

"Nah," Joe said dismissively. "He was pissed but not seriously angry. He didn't break anything this time."

"I hope you're right." Duncan sighed. "Assuming the wedding is still on, did he tell you that the rehearsal is set for tomorrow at four, with dinner at Maurice's afterward?"

Joe nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be there. Now go find him and make nice, okay?"

 

* * *

 

Duncan stood for a long moment outside Methos' apartment, letting the feeling of Immortal presence wash over him. He was relieved that the two errant Immortals had come back here, but at the same time would have welcomed time to prepare for the upcoming scene. Knowing Methos, he wouldn't make apologizing easy. And he knew he owed Richie an apology as well.

He took a deep breath and opened the door to the apartment, then closed it and stood leaning against it. Richie and Methos were sitting on the floor sorting through stacks of CDs. Richie looked up briefly and gave Duncan a tentative smile, but Methos totally ignored him.

"What about this one?" Methos asked, handing a CD to Richie.

The younger Immortal's eyes bugged out of his head. "Wow! I've heard rumors of an uncut version of this CD! Where, no, _how'd_ you get this one? It's a collector's item.  No one outside the band and a couple friends got a copy."

Methos shrugged. "I've got a few connections, sat in on a few sessions."

"You did _what_?" The look on Richie's face came closer to awe than Duncan had ever seen him show around Methos. "No shit?" Methos smiled faintly. "Wow," Richie said again, then shook himself out of his moment of reverence. "I gotta tell you, though; I love these guys, but this isn't exactly the right music for a wedding." He glanced over at Duncan again. "Mac could probably help you choose something... "

"I'm sure he could," Methos said shortly, getting to his feet and heading towards the kitchen. "Sorry to toss you out, Rich, but I've got company coming for dinner in a couple of hours."

"No problem," Richie said quickly, relieved to escape. The tension in the room was palpable and he had a feeling that an audience was the last thing they needed. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "Mac," he said nervously, wondering if the other man was going to move out of the way and let him leave or if Duncan was still pissed with him.

"Richie," Duncan said quietly. "Thanks for bringing him home and staying with him."

"Um, no problem, Mac," Richie said, confused by his mentor's manner.

"And I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I know you're very safe. It's just that he's... " He hesitated, uncertain how to phrase his feelings.

Richie smiled faintly. "Yeah. He is."

Duncan nodded, then folded Richie into a brief hug. "Watch your head, okay?"

"I will. 'Night, Mac," Richie said with a lopsided grin, then turned back towards the kitchen area to call, "Night, Adam. See you at the rehearsal tomorrow."

Methos made a non-committal reply, intently scrutinizing something in the oven, and Duncan closed the door behind Richie. Then he locked it for good measure, took another deep breath, and headed for the kitchen.

"Smells good," he said, knowing it was a lame start but uncertain where to begin.

"I'll be done in a few minutes and then you can have the kitchen."

"No hurry." There was an uncomfortable pause, then Duncan sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't want to put you in cotton wool and store you away, but I can't help worrying about you."

Methos didn't reply, turning his attention to cleaning up the kitchen. Duncan's temper frayed even more and he burst out, "Aren't you going to say something? Is this what our arguments are going to be like? We snipe at each other and then you walk out and I have to go running after you?"

Methos looked up at him, a hooded expression in his eyes. "I didn't ask you to come running after me."

"Well, what did you expect me to do? And why did you walk out in the middle of a fight?"

Methos sighed wearily, leaning on the counter and not looking at his lover. "It's what I do best, Mac. I've learned over the years that it's a hell of a lot safer than staying."

There was a certain bleakness in Methos' voice that horrified Duncan and froze him in place for a long moment. Considering what had happened just three months earlier, he had a feeling that Methos was obliquely referring to his history.  The thought that Methos could even in a small way equate Duncan with Kronos appalled him. "Is that...do you really think I could _hurt_ you?" he demanded. "I love you, dammit!"

"And I love you, more than I've ever loved anyone in my life," Methos said, and Duncan knew that was the plain truth. "Which means you have the capacity to hurt me far more than anyone ever has."

Duncan had a whole list of arguments lined up, reasons why his lover needed to listen to him and stay safely tucked under his watchful eye. But in the wake of such a blatant admission, none of them seemed important. He crossed the small kitchen area, folded Methos in his arms, and dropped his forehead onto Methos' shoulder.

"Don't let me," he said thickly. "Keep telling me where to get off. I may not listen the first time but if you hit me upside the head often enough, it's bound to sink in." He heard Methos' startled laugh and couldn't help grinning; he loved that sound so much. "Just remember that the reverse is true as well. You can hurt me more than I can bear.  And if I were to lose you now... "

"Duncan." Methos pulled back slightly, forcing Duncan to lift his head, and Methos framed it within his hands. "I can't promise to stay alive, any more than you. But I'm going to do my damnedest.  And you'll admit I have a pretty impressive record when it comes to surviving."

Duncan nodded and took advantage of their closeness to kiss Methos gently on the lips. "Does this mean the fight's over?"

Methos grinned. "What, in a hurry to get to the 'kiss-and-makeup' stage?"

"Always."

"Well, much as I'd love to indulge you, we have guests arriving for dinner in a few hours and you haven't even started the famous MacLeod sole. Not to mention the place is a wreck."

"Yeah, someone seems to have strewn CDs all over the floor. I wonder who that could be." Duncan moved his lips down to Methos' neck, licking a spot that he knew was particularly sensitive. "Why the sudden urge to sort your collection?"

"I'm not," Methos murmured, his eyes sliding shut as he tilted his head to the side. "I'm trying to find something for our first dance."

"Still? I thought you'd decided that already." Duncan's hands slid under the back of Methos' sweater, teasing the warm flesh with light strokes, as his mouth continued its assault.

"Not yet. Everything I've found is too sappy or you'll hate it or impossible to dance to or - oh God!"

"Like that, do you?"

"What's not to like? Mac - stop - we'll never make it to the bed..."

"That's what kitchen floors are for." Duncan's hands abandoned their exploration in favor of removing obstacles to their union.

"Really?" Methos said, amused. "I've always thought of them as a too hard and cold."

Duncan grinned. "Hard is good, and I promise you won't get cold." He laid his lover carefully on the floor and stripped his pants the rest of the way off, tossing them over his shoulder. "Where's the cooking oil?"

In response, Methos opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a box, tossing it to his lover. Duncan caught it and read the label, then burst out laughing. "Your Watcher friends are truly sick. Remember to thank them for me."

"I'll send them a note tomorrow."

"Engraved?"

"Of course." Methos pulled his knees up to his chest and moaned at the feeling of slick fingers pressing against him. "Thick card stock, ivory, with our initials entwined."

"I'm impressed."

"You should be."

"And the text of the message?" Duncan released his aching cock and slicked it up, then pressed it against Methos' entrance.

"Um...Dear Watcher Fortuna...Thank you ...for your thoughtful...gift. I...had no idea...that a product like...The Kitchen Kama Sutra... existed.  Duncan...especially wishes...to thank you...and... and commend your...good taste."

Duncan decided that a good taste sounded wonderful and roughly possessed his lover's mouth for a few minutes. "Go on."

"Uh, right, um. 'We shall certainly...put it to...good use...as soon as possible.'" Methos' back arched and he shuddered as he came, feeling his lover erupt moments later. The humor of the situation hit as Duncan slumped down over him and Duncan grinned.

"What?"

"Talk about sick. We're screwing on the kitchen floor, using one of their perverted gifts, and talking about a note that would end up - if I ever really wrote it - in one of our Chronicles. Preserved for generations of Watchers to read, probably alongside 8x10 glossies of just exactly how we used said contents."

Duncan laughed. "At least it would make for interesting reading."

"Trust me, Mac," Methos said dryly. "Your Chronicles are anything but boring."

"You've read them?"

Evading the subject, Methos said in a complaining tone, "You promised I wouldn't get cold. I'm getting cold."

Duncan chuckled and kissed the tip of Methos' nose. "Irritating old man." He eased out of Methos' body and stood up, reaching down a hand to pull Methos up with him. "Shower. Then I've got turban to make and you've got cleaning to do."

 

* * *

Methos opened the door and smiled widely at the sight of his two college friends. "Rae! Taylor! Come in, please."

"We're a little early," Taylor said apologetically. "Rae's been clucky all day - ow!" He rubbed his stomach where Rae jabbed him.

Rae smiled sweetly. "It's been awhile since we were last in Paris and I didn't want to get lost. Hope we didn't come at an inconvenient time."

"Of course not. Duncan's just putting the finishing touches on the table. Duncan!" he called, moving out of the doorway and letting his friends into the apartment. "The place is small, but please make yourselves at home."

Rae's eyes flicked around the efficiency apartment, taking in the artifacts and books. And then, as the man at the back of the room moved towards them, her eyes widened. "Oh my God!"

Methos grinned, well aware of the reaction many people had seeing Duncan for the first time. "Rae, Taylor, this is my fiancé, Duncan MacLeod. Duncan, my dearest friends from grad school, Rae Cross and C.R. Taylor."

Duncan smiled at the pair, drawing on all the charm at his disposal to win over these friends of his intended. Manners dictated that he offer his hand to the lady first, but as Rae was clutching a wine bottle in her hands and staring at him wide-eyed, he turned to the man at her side. "C.R.?" he said, extending his hand to shake the anthropologist's.

Taylor made a rueful face. "Don't ask; my parents were a bit of something else. My mates just call me Taylor, Mr. MacLeod."

"Mac, please." He turned to the woman and Rae thrust the bottle towards him.

"Here. This is for you - and Adam. To go with dinner." She flushed in embarrassment as she realized how she'd been staring. "I'm sorry..."

"No need to be," Duncan said smoothly, handing the bottle to Methos and then possessed himself of her hand. "I'm flattered."

Rae recovered her wits and smiled back. "Adam didn't tell us much about you," she said, shooting a dark look at her friend, then her eyes glimmered with mischief. "Except about the snoring."

"Snoring?" Duncan asked blankly.

She nodded. "And the drooling."

Duncan shot his lover an irate look that Methos returned with his innocent 'what?' face. "Don't believe everything this character tells you," he said, then gestured towards the dining area. "Dinner's ready. I hope you're hungry."

"Smells wonderful," Rae said, heading towards the dining area where candlelight gleamed off the glasses and plates. Duncan had made a run back to the barge earlier that afternoon for his good china after discovering Methos didn't have a set of matching _anything_.

"Duncan's a good cook," Methos said, indicating the seats they should take while Duncan went into the kitchen  to open the wine.

Taylor grinned at him. "I thought you were putting on a bit around the middle, mate."

"Adam's no slouch in the cooking department," Duncan said hastily, bringing the wine to the table and pouring it. "He made dessert and it is incredible."

"So, you two live here?" Rae said, glancing around the apartment. "Pretty small place for two, isn't it?"

"Actually, Duncan lives on a barge," Methos said blandly.

"Really? That sounds romantic," Rae said enthusiastically.

"It can be," Duncan said with a little shrug as he served the sole. "For those who don't hate the water." He gave Methos a sly sideways look. "My cousin is staying there till the wedding."

"So where are you gonna set up housekeeping after the wedding," Taylor asked. "Here or there?"

Duncan opened his mouth to answer but Methos beat him to it. "Neither," he said smoothly. "We're getting a bigger place."

"What you _really_ should do," Rae said severely, "is land a position and _then_ look for a place to live. After all that work to get your doctorate, you damn well better not waste it." Looking over at Duncan, she said, "By the way, Adam never mentioned what you do for a living."

Duncan heard the suspicion in her voice and wryly thought that she'd recovered from her first impression. He glanced at Methos for help but the other man was pointedly ignoring him. Duncan cleared his throat and drank a little wine. "I used to be in the antique business, had a store in Seacouver before I decided to do something else. I still do private appraisals. And teach at the college there from time to time."

"Must be good to be able to do as you please to make a quid," Taylor said dryly.

Methos shot Taylor a frown. "Mac does a lot of charity work."

"And I travel a fair amount," Duncan said, not in the least put out. "My cousin's still in the antique business and I scout for him. Although actually," he said with a sideways look at Methos, "I'm looking forward to Adam landing a teaching position. He's promised that I can be a house-husband, and take care of him and the kids."

He hadn't meant to say that but the thought had been so much in his mind lately that it just slipped out. He could sense Methos stiffening in the chair across from him and didn't dare look at him, hoping their guests missed that.

"Kids?" Taylor asked, dashing that hope. "As in children?"

Duncan took another sip of wine, a large one. "Adam and I are talking about adopting, or perhaps finding a surrogate mother."

"That's wonderful!" Rae said, excited. "I've always thought that Adam would make a great father! Well," she admitted wrinkling her nose, "maybe not so hot at the baby stage, but he'll be wonderful with curious little minds. The students in his classes always loved 'Mr. P'."

"Yes, well, we'll see what happens," Methos said hastily. "You never did tell me about your last expedition to South America."

Rae's face lit up with pleasure. "It was an interesting experience, even if it was cancelled early. We were collecting myths and oral histories from some of the more remote groups in the Peruvian Amazon."

"Manu?" Methos asked, passing the lemon sauce to Taylor.

"No, not in any of the reserves, and not first contact or anything. In fact, one of our host tribes had some fascinating stories about a white man who had been living with them before we got there. In their stories he was almost superhuman, but we never had time to establish the historical basis."

Taylor nodded. "Very unusual mythos they had about it, too." He frowned. "I hope they're all right. They were having a fair bit of trouble with some blokes from a Yank company messing about the place. Mad as a cut snake their head man was about it, too. We were going to have a look-see for them, but the expedition went cactus and here we are." He gave Rae a rueful look. "Looking for a place at the uni while we wait for another offer."

"I'm sure something will come up," Methos said encouragingly, and steered the talk into mutual friends from school as well as Rae and Taylor's plan to get married sometime before heading off on the next expedition.

From there, the talk changed into different places the four had visited, comparing and contrasting their views, and before they knew it, several hours had passed pleasantly. The pair of anthropologists said their goodnights, praising the food and inviting Duncan and Methos to let them return the favor when they got back from the honeymoon. Duncan accepted for both of them, and then Methos walked them out.

"So, what do you think of him?" Methos asked Rae as Taylor unlocked the car.

"Absolutely gorgeous, of course," Rae said with a grin. "But he's also got a good brain to go along with those looks. I can see why you're gone on him." Then she said soberly, "I do hope you know what you're doing, though, Adam. That's not a tame housecat, by any stretch of the imagination. I can't explain it, it's just...there's something in his eyes that reminds me of the warriors we met in Peru."

"Centuries of Highland inbreeding," he said lightly. "His cousin's just the same, warriors under the skin."

"Adam..."

"Don't worry," he said, taking her face between his hands and kissing her forehead. "I'm all grown up and ready to play with the big boys."

"I hope so," she said tartly. "Because otherwise that man's going to eat you up."

Methos grinned. "I certainly hope so." She cuffed him and he gave her a last hug, then watched as the two drove off before slowly walking back up to his flat.

Duncan was rinsing off the last of the dishes when Methos entered and locked up for the night. "You're just in time to dry dishes."

"Lucky me." Methos picked up a plate and a towel. They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. "It went well this evening."

"I thought so, too. I really like your friends. Taylor's quiet but his sense of humor is deadly, and Rae..." Duncan grinned. "She speaks her mind, doesn't she?"

"That's our Rae," Methos said affectionately. He gave Duncan a sideways look as he picked up another towel to help dry. "She likes you, too, but says you're a dangerous man."

"And you said?"

"That I like dangerous men."

Duncan snorted. "I want to hear you say that the next time someone comes around to challenge me."

"She also said you're going to eat me up," Methos said, and one eyebrow quirked up.

"Is that an invitation?" Duncan asked.

"Could be."

Duncan set down his towel and plucked the towel out of Methos' hand, tossing it onto the counter before wrapping his arms around his lover. "Are you always this randy, or is it another effect of being pregnant?"

Methos grinned. "Afraid you won't be able to keep up with me, MacLeod?"

In reply, Duncan dragged Methos off to bed. The dishes could wait till morning.


	36. Chapter 36

Duncan's cell phone rang while he was washing the combined dinner and breakfast dishes, and he grabbed a dishtowel to dry off his hands before grabbing the phone off the table. "Duncan MacLeod."

"Hello, Duncan."

His face lit up with pleasure. "Anne!"

Methos looked over from where he stood by the bed, half-dressed and toweling his hair dry. His eyes met Duncan's as he jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. Duncan mouthed a silent thanks and, with a nod, Methos went into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him.

"Is your flight in already? I'm sorry. I thought you were getting in around two. It'll take me an hour to get to the airport. Or you can take a cab to the hotel and I'll meet you there. "

"Duncan, I'm not in Paris."

"Your flight got delayed in New York? When do they think you'll be arriving here?" Duncan was disappointed; they'd miss the rehearsal but maybe they'd be in time for the dinner afterward.

"I won't be. I mean, I'm not in New York, I'm in Seacouver."

"The flight was cancelled? Why didn't you let me know earlier? I'll make some calls, get you and Mary on a charter. You won't get in until early morning but you can sleep on the plane. "

"Duncan," Anne interrupted. "I cancelled our tickets."

Duncan frowned. "But...Anne, the wedding is tomorrow."

"I know. We're not coming."

Duncan felt as if the air had been knocked out of him and he slowly sank into a chair. "We talked; you said you understood."

"Duncan, it's not about Adam. Well, not about him being a man."

Slowly, Duncan said, "It's because he's like me. Immortal."

"Yes," Anne said with relief. "I'm glad you understand."

"But I don't. I know you couldn't be with me, but this is my wedding!"

"And who is going to be coming, Duncan? People like me? Or people like you?"

"There will be several mortals there," Duncan said defensively. "Good friends of Adam's. And Joe."

"But there are going to be a lot more Immortals, aren't there?"

"They're _friends_ of mine, Anne."

"Friends now, but what about later? What about when this...this _Game_ of yours gets more intense?"

Duncan bristled. "My friends would never hurt you."

"Never, Duncan? Never's a long time and things change. Friends change." He could hear the break in her voice on the other end of the phone. "I can't take that kind of risk with Mary. She...she's all I have, Duncan. Surely you can understand that."

"No, I don't," Duncan said stubbornly. "I don't understand. I can protect you - "

"From the other side of the world? I don't think so, Duncan. And even if you were here, you couldn't be with us twenty-four hours a day."

Duncan felt icy fingers clutch at his heart. "Anne, don't do this. You know how much you and Mary mean to me."

"I know, but someday..." She paused, then said mirthlessly. "I was about to say  that someday you'd understand but you won't."

"Anne..."

"I'm sorry, Duncan." He heard the catch in her voice, could almost see the tears running down her face. "I've got to go. It's midnight here and I've got the morning shift at the hospital. Please believe that I'm very happy for you, and give my best wishes to Adam."

Before he could reply, the phone had disconnected and he was left listening to dead air. He sat there, phone in his hand, not even hearing the bathroom door when it opened.

"So are you off to the airport? If you'll drop me at Julian's on your way, I'll have him drive me out to the Valincourts' and meet you there." Methos pulled a turtleneck over his head and tucked it into his slacks, then slipped a belt through the loops and fastened it, grimacing  when he had to go down another hole. "Dammit, that's the last hole on this belt. If I get any fatter, I'm going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe, and let me tell you that's _not_ in Adam Pierson's budget. Since this is all your fault, I expect you to pay for it."

He waited for Duncan's customary protest and, when he didn't get it, turned around and looked over at Duncan. "Mac?" There was no response and an icy dread filled Methos. He crossed the room in an instant to crouch by Duncan, laying a hand on his knee. "Duncan? Has something happened to Anne or Mary?"

"What?" Duncan roused at the touch and glanced at his lover. "Oh. No, nothing like that. They're fine. They're just not coming to the wedding."

"Oh." Methos started to withdraw his hand but Duncan captured it and held it firmly.

"It's not you. It's not because I'm marrying a man. It's because of what we are. Immortals. She doesn't want to hurt Mary."

_So instead she hurts you - again,_ Methos thought bitterly to himself but knew better than to say it out loud. As he'd learned over the centuries, one of the worst mistakes one could make was criticizing a past lover.

He stood up and would have moved away but Duncan wouldn't release his hand. Instead, Duncan tugged him closer so that Methos stood beside the chair, and then he rested his forehead against Methos' abdomen as he closed his eyes. Methos recognized his lover's silent plea for comfort and gently combed his fingers through Duncan's hair.

They stayed like that for a long time and then, with a sigh that was barely audible, Duncan turned his head to rest his cheek against Methos' abdomen. "I don't know what I expected."

"You expect life to be fair and sometimes it just isn't. Whereas I expect life to try to kick me in the teeth and sometimes it doesn't."

Duncan smiled. The sensation of Methos' voice rumbling under his cheek was oddly comforting. "She said, more or less, that I'd understand if I was a parent."

"Maybe. Having someone dependent on you gives you a different perspective on things. But I don't think you could ever be indifferent to another person's feelings."

"She isn't indifferent," Duncan protested. "I could tell it was hurting her." Methos didn't say anything and Duncan sighed, realizing he'd never convince him that Anne was the injured party.

Instead, turning the conversation to a less painful subject, he rubbed his cheek against Methos' abdomen and said, "How long before we'll be able to feel them move?"

"Another couple months. Impatient?"

Duncan sighed. "They don't seem quite real yet, in spite of the pictures."

"They seem real enough to me."

Duncan chuckled and released him reluctantly. "Well, I suppose we'd better get going. If we're late, Julian will probably veto the honeymoon to get even."

"Speaking of which, are you going to tell me where we're going _before_ I pack?"

Duncan grinned at him as he got up from the chair. "Nope."

"So I won't know if I should pack my flannels or shorts? You realize that if I'm not happy with where you've chosen, I could develop a headache lasting the entire honeymoon."

He grinned. "I like living dangerously."

Methos rolled his eyes but realized with relief that the MacLeod brood had been of remarkably short duration, not that he believed it was completely over. Still, the next few days should be busy enough to keep Duncan distracted, and maybe by then he would have found some measure of acceptance. Maybe.

 

* * *

 

Julian was ready for them when they arrived, and he guided them into one of the regular rooms instead of his office. Methos raised an eyebrow but Julian just smiled.

"Exam time, old man. Strip down to your boxers and put this on," he said, handing Methos a cloth gown. "Have a seat, Mac."

Methos made a face but went into the dressing area to change. He emerged wearing a gown that hung like a tent and still managed to gape in the back. He looked harassed as he tried to fasten the ties to give at least a semblance of dignity, and gave Duncan a warning look that said "laugh and you die."

Julian smothered his own grin and set about recording Methos' weight and blood pressure, then gestured towards the examining table. "Up you go and lie down on your back. I need to see if everything is settling into place."

"You're having way too much fun with this," Methos grumbled, trying to keep his dignity intact as he settled on the table.

"You have no idea," Julian said with a grin. "I think of it as payback for all the hell you gave me during my training."

Duncan grinned. "I'd love to hear stories someday."

"That can be arranged."

Methos gave Julian a glare. "Just remember that I'm armed and suffering from unpredictable mood swings."

"When aren't you?" Duncan retorted.

Julian chuckled and turned to Duncan. "I've got a treat for you today. Since the babies are about 10 weeks old now, we should be able to hear their heartbeats."

Duncan's eyes lit up as he moved closer to the examining table. "So soon?"

Julian nodded as he lifted the gown up to Methos' chest. Gently, he began pressing on his abdomen in various places, checking the placement of the growing babies. "We use a Doppler to magnify the sound at this stage but yes, if we're lucky, we'll be able to hear them." To Methos he said, "Everything seems normal here. You're expanding nicely around the waist and the babies appear to be adjusting to the space. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, actually," Methos said. "The morning sickness has eased up and I'm not living in the loo anymore."

Julian nodded. "You should be feeling a lot more energetic, too." He gave Duncan a sideways grin. "Which will be a good thing over this next week, right?" Duncan flushed slightly and Julian chuckled, then pulled a small rolling cart over. "Well, let's see if we can find the little ones." He rubbed gel over Methos' abdomen, then picked up a small scanner and turned on the machine attached to it.

Duncan frowned. "What do you mean 'find them'? They're inside him."

"Yes, but there's a lot of room in there and two very small babies to find. They're only about 61mm long at this point - two and a half inches - and whether we can hear their hearts depends on locating them." Julian concentrated for a moment as he moved the scanner around on Methos' abdomen on the left side, then he grinned. "There's one of them."

Duncan cocked his head, listening to the odd whoosh-whoosh noise coming out of the speaker. "I don't hear any heartbeats, unless you mean that faint echoing noise."

"That swooshing sound is the baby's heart," Julian explained. "The slower 'echo' you hear is actually Methos' heart as heard through the abdominal cavity."

Duncan concentrated on the rapid whooshing noise. "It's so fast."

Julian glanced at the display screen. "125 beats per minute - normal for a fetus. Now let's see if we can find the other one." He moved the scanner down and over slightly. "Here - this one is a little clearer, not as much echo, and it's a little faster at 140 beats. Again, entirely normal."

Duncan couldn't help the grin that spread over his face as he listened to the sound. "It's incredible," he said softly, and he inexplicably found that his throat felt tight.

"Mac?" Methos stretched out a hand and Duncan clutched it like a lifeline. "Are you okay?" Duncan nodded, unable to speak.

"Feels real for the first time, doesn't it?" Julian asked. "And a little overwhelming, too. You're not the first father to feel that way." He switched off the machine and pushed the cart out of the way. "Well, everything appears to be progressing nicely, so I'm giving you the green light for the honeymoon. Take sensible precautions, of course. This is a high-risk pregnancy so avoid extreme sports and dangerous situations."

"I always do," Methos retorted, pulling down the gown as he sat up.

"You've got my card with my private number, so if anything unusual seems to be happening, don't hesitate to call.  f you're feeling good, you can discontinue the anti-nausea meds. That should make you feel less sleepy as well. I'll see you in two weeks and we'll run another ultrasound and the amnio. Which means that in three weeks you should know whether you're having boys, girls, or a mixed batch."

Duncan suddenly couldn't breathe. From seeming unreal earlier only an hour ago, the babies now felt only too real, and he had a moment of panic as he realized they didn't even have a home to bring their children back to, much less cribs and clothing and all the rest of the paraphernalia that babies needed.

A low laugh sounded in his ear and he heard his lover murmur, "Breathe, Mac. They're not coming tomorrow. It still takes nine months to make a baby, Immortal or not."

Duncan drew in a deep, shaky breath. "We have so much to do."

"I know, but it doesn't have to be done today." Methos turned his head towards Julian. "Are you done torturing me?"

"For now. Get dressed and get out of here. I've got a wedding rehearsal to attend and three case files to update before I can leave."

"Speaking of which," Duncan said as Methos disappeared into the dressing area to change. "Don't your nurses and other patients think it's odd, seeing two men together in the waiting room? Should we be more discreet?"

"Not at all," Julian said. "I don't just treat women. I treat _couples_ trying to have children against the odds. Sometimes that involves fertility treatments for the men. And I have two gay couples who are expecting via surrogate mothers. My staff thinks you and Adam are here for that same reason. I've invented an anonymous surrogate mother who has the chart with all Adam's information except, of course, his true age and sex. Once Adam starts 'showing', I'll make house calls to handle the routine visits, and we can schedule anything requiring equipment for after hours."

"Relax, Mac," Methos said, coming back into the room as he finished settling his clothes. "I'm supposed to be the rampant paranoid in this relationship, not you."

"Right," Duncan said with a snort. "You haven't been paranoid _enough_ lately. I think the hormones are making you too compliant."

"And you're complaining about me being too compliant?" Methos asked with a grin. "Maybe you need to see about getting some vitamins from Julian so you can keep up."

Duncan rolled his eyes and looked over at Julian. "The man's a sex maniac. Is this normal?"

Julian grinned. "Think of it as the last hurrah before the babies arrive, nature's consolation gift to pregnant couples so they'll have something to fondly look back on when they have to go for weeks without it."

"Weeks?" Duncan asked, aghast.

Methos smirked. "Feedings every two hours, wet diapers, colic, dirty diapers, teething, rashes - you'll be lucky to get any sleep, much less sex, Mac."

"Weeks?"

"Welcome to the wonderful world of parenthood," Methos said dryly. He grabbed his coat and headed towards the door, with Duncan trailing after him.

"Weeks?"

 

* * *

 

The Valincourt estate was a sea of pandemonium when they pulled up in front of it a few hours later, after stopping to pick up Duncan's kilt from the cleaners and the little gifts they were giving their groomsmen. Duncan looked around, aghast, as scores of people carrying flowers and chairs and cases of alcohol danced around each other, somehow avoiding imminent collision.

"Oh. My. God."

Gina was standing on the front steps, directing a group of men carrying a rolled-up canopy. She saw them and hurried over, a wide smile on her face.

"Duncan, my darling! Adam! I'm so glad  you're here early and have delightful news."

"Gina, look at this place!" Duncan said, gesturing at the trucks and people.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she said, beaming.

"It's a disaster!"

She gave him an amused look. "Well, of course it is! We're having a wedding in twenty-four hours. But not to worry: everything will be perfect by tomorrow."

"But - "

"Duncan, how many weddings have I had?" Gina asked, hands on her hips. "I think I know what I'm doing by now."

Methos was watching the activity with interest and now he looked back at Duncan with a glimmer of a smile. "It'll be fine, Mac. And if it isn't, we'll elope."

Duncan couldn't help grinning and turned back to Gina. "You said you have news?"

She beamed at him. "The best! I've found a priest to marry you!"

Duncan blinked. "You've found a what?"

"A priest." Gina tugged on his arm, leading him towards the house. "He can't marry you in the Church, of course, but he's agreed - as a friend - to officiate while you exchange your vows. Isn't that wonderful?"

Duncan looked back at Methos who was following them with his hands shoved in his pants' pockets. His lover just shrugged so Duncan looked back at Gina. "A priest," Duncan said in disbelief.

"Father Liam Riley, at your service," said a pleasant voice as Gina led them into a small salon where refreshments had been set out. "And you must be Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan and Methos had instinctively stiffened and turned at the feeling of Immortal Presence. The man in the room looked like anything but a priest, dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt. He smiled affably as he held out his hand for Duncan to shake.

"I take it my reputation has preceded me," Duncan said dryly.

Father Liam tilted his head slightly to one side and smiled. "We have mutual friends."

"Darius?" Despite the years that had passed, the loss of his friend was still a painful ache, and Duncan's throat tightened.

"He spoke of you on the occasions when we met, but I was referring to Amanda and Nick."

Duncan blinked. "You know Amanda?"

"Quite well." He turned and extended his hand to Methos. "And I know, or knew, this young man as well. Dr. Charles Patterson, wasn't it? I take it you are now Adam Pierson?"

"Yes to both," Methos said, shaking the priest's hand. "Good to see you again, Father."

"And under much happier circumstances," Father Liam added.

"You two know each other?"

Liam nodded. "We worked together during the Spanish Flu epidemic. Unfortunately, despite Dr. Patterson's skill and Dr. Chandel's dedication, we lost a great many patients. I buried over 400 in my parish alone, although Boston got off lightly compared to some places."

Duncan glanced over at Methos. "You know Grace?"

Methos shrugged. "We've met."

"And you didn't mention it when you saw the guest list?"

"It wasn't important. We parted friends."

Duncan rolled his eyes but forbore saying anything else in front of this stranger, even if he was a priest. Especially since he was a priest. "So Amanda talked you into this, I take it?"

Liam's eyes twinkled at him. "She can be very persuasive."

"Yes, she can be," Duncan said feelingly. "But what about the Church? It doesn't exactly approve of our lifestyle choice, much less condone our marriage."

"My views are less...limited," Father Liam said, with a slight smile. "And I won't be performing the Sacrament of Marriage - that's out not allowed at present, although I have hopes. I'll be celebrating an important occasion in the lives of friends. That is, if you'll permit me to do so."

Duncan looked over at Methos, and the older Immortal shrugged. "Welcome aboard, Father," Methos said.

"Fine," Liam said, smiling widely. "In that case, I'd like to take advantage of this time before the others arrive to talk with both of you. Even if I'm not here in an 'official' capacity, I take marriage seriously and believe that any two people approaching it should do the same. Especially since a marriage between two Immortals has the potential to be eternal, not just spiritually but also physically."

Duncan nodded. "I agree. I'm in this for the duration, however long that is. Adam?"

Methos gave Duncan a crooked smile. "Oh, yes."

"Good," Liam said with a relieved sigh. "And I hope that you both will seek me out if anything should arise that you'll need counseling for." His eyes twinkled. "Anything. I wasn't always a priest. Now, since we have some time before the rest of the wedding party arrives, let's sit down and talk about just exactly what each of you is expecting out of this marriage."

 

* * *

By the time Father Liam had finished talking with them jointly and scheduled individual appointments with them for the next morning, the rest of the party had arrived and were gathered in the salon with the refreshments. Gina gave them an anxious look as they joined the party, clearly worried that she had overstepped boundaries by getting Father Liam involved, but the reassuring smile Duncan gave her made her relax.

"Everyone is here, yes?" Gina asked. "Then let us go out to the garden so we can get this rehearsal properly under way."

She led the way past the long dining room where Duncan could see buffet tables being set up, out onto the patio where small tables were sprouting like mushrooms, and onto the lawn where a temporary wooden floor had been set up for dancing. A large rolled-up canopy lay in a heap to one side, the stage for the band was only partially put together, and folding chairs were scattered about the lawn. Duncan shuddered and prayed for a miracle.

"Since we are being _intimate_ ," she said, with a droll look at Duncan, "I thought that the exchange of vows could take place here. The guests will have plenty of room to sit or stand along the sides. You," she said, gesturing at Methos, "will stand over here with your two groomsmen. And you, Duncan, will come in from over there." She gestured along the pathway that wound around the side of the house. "The little flower girl?"

"She couldn't make it," Duncan said.

"Ah, well. Then we shall improvise."

Gina efficiently deployed the rest of the bridal party, sending Methos and his attendants to wait near the stage while Duncan and his party was sent back to the house to await their cue. Alex and Robert, providing a token audience, settled in chairs and waited for Gina to set her players in motion.

Satisfied that everyone was ready, Gina announced, "As soon as we hear the piper, we move into our places like so." She demonstrated and nodded her approval as Methos and the others took their places. After making a few adjustments in their placement, she summoned Duncan's party and got them lined up as well. Then she made them walk through it again, just to ensure that no one forgot where they were supposed to end up, before turning to the priest.

"At this point I take over," Liam said with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "We've talked about the vows you'll be taking already, so let's just go over what will take place tomorrow. I'll ask your intentions, you'll exchange vows and rings, and then each of you has decided to make a personal statement. After that, I'll sum up the commitment you've made and invite you to kiss. Any questions?" Both men shook their heads, although a little dubiously, and he smiled. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine tomorrow. I've done hundreds of these and something just takes over and sees you through."

"After the ceremony, the dining room will be opened for the buffet," Robert said with brisk efficiency. "Once everyone is seated again, we'll serve the champagne and have the toasts and dancing."

"You _do_ have a first dance picked out, Adam, don't you?" Gina asked anxiously.

"Not yet, but I will by tomorrow," Methos assured her.

She shook her finger at him. "You had better, or _I_ will pick the song. Yes, and make you dance to it, too." Methos pretended to shudder at that and she laughed. "The band will be here by noon to set up, and they already have Duncan's list of requests, so there is no problem." She turned a bright smile on everyone. "Then we are finished, I think, until tomorrow?"

"I think we are," Duncan agreed, and hugged her. "Thanks for putting this all together, Gina. And I'll take your word for it that everything will be perfect tomorrow."

"How could it not?" she asked simply, and her eyes went to her husband. "You are marrying the one you love. How could it be less than perfect?"

There was silence for a moment, then Joe said, "And on that note, I think we'd better head to Maurice's. No telling how long it'll take to get there, and you know how he is if we're late."

The wedding party trooped back through the house and into their cars again, Gina and Robert declining to join them since they still were busy setting up. Father Liam also turned down the invitation, citing an evening mass.

Duncan was silent on the ride back to town.  Methos gently touched his knee. "Mac?"

"Hmm?" Duncan turned his head and looked at Methos questioningly.

"Second thoughts?"

"What?" Duncan asked, startled. "No! Of course not! I was just thinking about...things. The honeymoon arrangements and things like that. You? Any regrets or second thoughts?"

Methos smiled. "Not a one."

"Good." Duncan covered his lover's hand with his and squeezed it slightly. "Very good."

 

* * *

 

Maurice was waiting anxiously outside his restaurant, and when they arrived a smile lit up his face. He greeted the grooms with particularly fervent kisses on both cheeks and ushered them inside, assuring them that he had closed the restaurant to all others for the evening.

"So this evening, I am all yours! And such a meal we have prepared for you!"

Maurice guided them towards a large table, seating Duncan and Methos next to each other along one side. He fussed a bit over the fact that the numbers were uneven with seven men and three women, but one of the under-chefs came out to confer with him over the appetizers and he hurried off, leaving the rest of the party to settle themselves. The wine steward promptly filled their glasses, and as soon as each of them had a full glass, Joe pushed himself to his feet and picked up his glass.

"Since we'll be doing the serious toasting tomorrow night, I'll save my pearls of wit and wisdom for then," he said, grinning at the pair and everyone laughed. "Still, it wouldn't be a proper celebration if I didn't say something to embarrass the hell out of these two, so here goes. To Duncan and Adam: Best wishes for the future, and may you never run out of three things: love, patience, and beer."

Methos laughed and applauded while the others echoed "To Duncan and Adam!" and then he stood up. "As the designated Groom, I'd like to thank you, Joe, for those stirring words which _I_ will certainly take to heart." He paused. "God knows I'll need patience to put up with Mac."

"Hey!" Duncan protested, grinning as he pulled Methos' sleeve to make him sit back down. "I'll have you know that I'm a Saint to live with."

"Right," Methos said, rolling his eyes. "And that would be one of the saints stricken off the Calendar, right?"

"Oh, look, dear," Alex said indulgently, smiling at them across the table. "They're already fighting like an old married couple. Isn't it sweet?"

Everyone laughed, and then appetizers appeared and talk turned to comments about the meal and other pleasantries. Appetizers were followed by Potage Crème de Huitres and crisp rolls, then the main course of Noix de Veau Brillat-Savarin and Les Petits Pois Parisians. Finally, a millefeuille pastry with the many layers filled with fruit and cream appeared, along with Maurice to accept their complements and praise.

Rachel and Malcolm made their farewells shortly after the dessert and coffee appeared, ostensibly to rest up for the next day, although their touches and Rachel's blushes convinced Duncan that another romance was progressing well. Once they had left, the others visibly relaxed, no longer needing to watch their words and actions as closely. Replete and enjoying an after dinner aperitif, the talk returned to the upcoming ceremony, with Richie teasing Methos because he still hadn't come up with a song for the first dance.

"What's so difficult?" he asked, grinning at the older Immortal across the table. "You just pick something and dance."

Methos rolled his eyes. "It's not that easy. First," he said, ticking off his fingers, "you have to be able to dance to it. Or rather, Mac has to be able to dance to it."

"What is this, 'insult Duncan' night?" Duncan demanded.

"You said, and I quote, 'I refuse to wiggle and gyrate through our first dance. If I can't hold you, I'm not dancing.' Am I right or not?"

Duncan shrugged. "You're right."

"That rules out most of my favorite music right there. Second, I refuse to dance to something saccharine like 'You Light Up My Life', or any of the ninety-nine other suggestions on the Bridal web pages, while half the Immortal world is gawking and smirking at us. Bad enough that Mac gave the band a list of every nauseatingly romantic song ever written to play during the _rest_ of the evening."

"You visited Bridal web sites?" Amanda asked, grinning. "That I would _love_ to see."

"Watch it, or I'll make sure Mac aims the bridal bouquet right at you," Methos threatened. Amanda stuck out her tongue at him.

"Elvis," Joe pronounced. "You can't go wrong with the King."

"What about a big-band type song?" Duncan asked. "'It Had To Be You', or something like that?"

Methos made a face. "We're not doing a  production number here, Mac, just a first dance."

Duncan grinned. "I don't know, you'd look good in a top hat and tails."

"This thing you have for dressing me up in outlandish outfits," Methos said with a shake of his head. "Were you deprived of the Highland equivalent of a dress-up doll as a child? Is that why you feel the need to experiment with me? First Frankenfurter and now Fred Astaire."

Richie looked up, an amused look on his face. "Mac thinks you'd make a good Frankie?"

"He's right," Amanda said. "Heaven knows you've got the legs for it."

"You've been peeking," Methos said, shaking a reproving finger at her.

Duncan looked at the three of them, bewildered. "Who is Franken - what was it?"

Richie gave Duncan an incredulous look. "You don't mean that you're a Virgin?"

Duncan gave him an outraged look. "I am most certainly not!" he said.  Amanda clapped her hands over her mouth to stop her giggles.

Richie rolled his eyes. "I mean a Rocky Horror Picture Show virgin, Mac. You've never seen it, have you?"

"Should I have?" he asked cautiously.

Amanda grinned. "Definitely. Especially since you seem to have a kink for Adam in stockings and a corset."

He frowned. "I'm missing something."

"It's a musical version of Frankenstein with a couple of twists," Methos explained.

"Like the fact that Dr. Frankenstein is a transvestite named Frankenfurter who parades around in fishnets and a lace-up corset," Richie added with a grin.

Duncan's look of foreboding deepened and Methos chuckled. "It's a cult classic, Mac. Tim Curry played the lead in the film." He leaned closer to Mac and sang softly, " 'Don't get strung out by the way I look; don't judge a book by its cover. I'm not much of a man by the light of day, but by night I'm one hell of a lover.' "

Duncan flushed at that and Amanda laughed in delight. "You have _got_ to take him to see it when you get back to Seacouver, Adam. It's very popular with the college crowd," she explained to Duncan.

Duncan gave her a pained look. "Can't we just rent it on video?"

"Hell, Mac, half of the fun is the floorshow," Richie protested.

"Oh, yes - like the Time Warp!" Amanda agreed, and to Duncan's horror, the three of them broke into a chorus of something that involved flailing arms and obscene body movements. Duncan flushed in embarrassment and looked helplessly at the other members of the bridal party, but there was no assistance there. Alex was smiling in amusement at his predicament while Julian and Connor were deep in conversation at their end of the table. Duncan leaned back so he could see around Methos as he gyrated in his chair, intending to appeal to Joe for help, and found that Joe was humming along under his breath.

Joe grinned as he saw Duncan's surprised look. "What?"

"Don't tell me you know what they're singing," Duncan said in exasperation.

"You need to get out more, Mac," Joe drawled. "See something besides opera. Have new experiences..." He broke off as he noticed every Immortal in the room stiffen, looked towards the door and swore under his breath.

A young redheaded woman entered the restaurant looking slightly frazzled, and Methos' face lit up with delight at the sight of her. "Remy!" he called out, throwing his napkin down on the table and heading towards her. "I didn't know you were in Paris. It's been ages - "

"Yeah, yeah, Ben, we really must get together for a drink and reminiscing sometime," she snapped, moving forward to meet him. "You need to get out of here _right now_!"

"Why?"

"Molly found out you're here in Paris. I tried to head her off but she's only about ten minutes behind me. Do I have to spell it out?"

"Definitely not." Methos glanced around, located the back door, and headed towards it. "It's been a swell evening guys, look forward to seeing you all at the wedding tomorrow - "

"Adam, what in hell...who is this?" Duncan protested, standing up and moving towards his lover.

"Sorry, Mac, no time for introductions. We've got to get the hell out of here." The back door burst open and a dark-haired woman entered. "Too late," Methos muttered, backing toward the front door instead.

At the sudden intrusion, each Immortal instinctively reached towards his or her weapon, but Duncan relaxed when he recognized her..

"Ceirdwyn," he said with a smile, taking a step towards her. "I'm glad you could make it. I'd like you to meet - "

"Ben Beeson," she said, her eyes locking on Methos. "It _is_ you. When Marcus told me you were here, I didn't believe him. You have  nerve, showing up here after what you did."

Methos raised his hands in a placating manner. "Now, Molly, that was a long time ago and  things didn't end too badly, did they?"

"Not for you!" Ceirdwyn said, scornfully. "How much did you get away with, while Cory and I spent the next two years in jail?"

"That wasn't my fault," Methos protested. "You knew the plan. When we split up after that last job, we were supposed to meet back at the saloon and then head out for Wyoming. Remy made it back safely. Can I help it if Cory decided to make changes?  And by the way, he doesn't blame me. I waited for two weeks - at great personal risk - before I left."

"I'm sure," she said, sarcastically.

"It's not my fault! The plan was perfect and if you had just followed my instructions, everything would have worked out fine. But no, you two had to be independent thinkers..."

"Wait a minute," Duncan interrupted. "This is all over some kind of robbery?"

"Some kind of robbery?" Methos said, affronted. "I'll have you know we ran the most successful string of robberies on the Southern Pacific line."

Duncan stared at Methos, amazed, for a moment, then turned his eyes towards Ceirdwyn. "Adam being involved I can just about believe, but you? Robbing trains?"

Ceirdwyn drew herself up. "The Southern Pacific Railway evicted over 200 families from their farms, took their land, and killed many of them. They nearly destroyed the ferry business of a dear friend of mine. We were only trying to get back what was rightfully theirs."

"All right, _that_ I can believe as your motivation, and I know Cory's history as a philanthropist, but this character?" Duncan gestured at Methos and shook his head. "I don't know _what_ to believe."

"Ben is a great planner," Remy said with an infectious grin. "One of the best at sizing up a situation, making a plan. After we joined up with Butch, he always said he got some of his best ideas from Ben."

"Butch Cassidy?" Richie asked, his eyes wide. He glanced over at Duncan who didn't seem surprised. "You knew Adam was one of the Wild Bunch and you didn't tell me? Hey, were you there that time they blew up the money- "

"Please, don't remind me," Methos said with a shudder. "What a bloody cock up. I told them they were using too much dynamite."

Duncan shook his head, deciding to deal with this new bit of information about his lover later, after the crisis was past. He moved to stand between Methos and Ceirdwyn, determined to get to the root of the matter. "Are you after Adam's head?"

Ceirdwyn gave him an appraising look. "And if I said I was?"

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to go through me first."

There was movement at the table, and then Connor was standing next to Duncan. "And me." The other three Immortals at the table stood also, and Ceirdwyn's eyes narrowed as she appraised each of them in turn. Finally, with a nod to herself, she relaxed her stance and gave Methos a rueful smile.

"You have improved your taste in friends over the last hundred years. Truce, then," she said, holding out her arm. Methos stepped  between Duncan and Connor, and clasped her forearm in a warrior's grip, locking eyes with her. "But if you ever betray me or mine again..."

There was a warning in her voice, and he knew that Duncan was included in that group. Methos met her look squarely. "Understood."

"Good." She released him and stepped back, then gave Duncan a questioning look. "I hope you know what you're doing, Duncan."

Duncan's eyes met hers. "I do."

"Then I suppose I should offer my congratulations." She held out her hand and, a little dazed by the quick turn of events, Duncan took it and accepted the kiss she brushed on his cheek. "I hope you will be very happy together." She turned to give Methos a last admonishing glance, then stepped back. "I've disrupted your party enough for one night. Coming, Remy?"

"In a minute." Remy turned back to smile up at Methos. "It's good to see you again. I meant it about sitting down with a drink to talk about old times." She leaned up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss over his cheek, then tweaked the end of his nose. "And I still say it's a nice nose."

Then she turned to Duncan, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Duncan MacLeod. Don't pay attention to what Molly said. I think you're getting one hell of a guy here."

"Thanks," Duncan said, shaking her hand with a wide grin. "I think so, too."

"Remy," Ceirdwyn called impatiently from the doorway and Remy grinned.

"Gotta run. Later, Ben." She blew an air-kiss at him and hurried towards the door.

Methos stared at the closed door for a long moment, aware that Duncan had turned to look at him. He had a feeling that Duncan was burning to talk to him about this newest revelation about his past but hoped that if he ignored Duncan long enough, the man would take a hint and drop it.

"Adam."

_So much for that thought_. Methos turned and gave Duncan his innocent look. "Yes?"

Duncan sighed and, grabbing Methos by the elbow, towed him over to the side so they could have a private conversation.

Methos sighed.  "All right, my past bit you on the arse again, is that it? I told you I rode with the Wild Bunch but you didn't believe -"

His words were cut off by a very forceful kiss, delivered by a man who didn't seem to care that he'd once been part of an outlaw gang. "Duncan?" he gasped when the other man finally released him.

"Who's Remy?"

Slightly dazed, Methos said, "Dianne Rembert, died in a shoot-out at the saloon in San Francisco where she worked about one hundred-twenty years ago. Student to Molly Tucker; you know her as Ceirdwyn. One of the coolest heads in a gunfight I've ever seen. The Bunch used to call her Red Remy. Why?" He recognized the dark look in Duncan's eyes and an amused smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Oh. Yes, we were lovers briefly, but that was over a century ago. She couldn't give up the wild life and it had gotten too dangerous for me. When I went back east to Boston, she joined a Wild West show as a trick rider and sharp-shooter."

Duncan gave him an amused look. "You're amazing, do you know that? Going from masterminding train heists to doctoring during a worldwide epidemic...is there anything you haven't done?"

"One or two things," Methos said with a smile, relieved that the past wasn't coming between them again.

"And that would be?"

"Telling. Much more fun for you to find out on your own, don't you think?"

Duncan chuckled and leaned forward to nuzzle Methos' neck. "Ever been propositioned in a public restaurant on the night before your wedding, just before being taken home to be nailed through the mattress?"

"Not that I recall," Methos said, his eyes sliding closed as his pulse began racing. "Tell me, is it the Dr. Schweitzer or Jesse James side of me that's bringing this out in you?"

"Much more fun for _you_ to find out, don't you think?"

Methos chuckled and was about to respond when a gravely voice interrupted. "All right, kids, you can do that later. Like tomorrow night after you're hitched."

Duncan reluctantly released Methos. "Joe, you're a spoilsport, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah. Tell it to someone who cares," Joe turned to Methos. "Come on, buddy. Time to take you home."

Duncan frowned. "Adam came with me."

"And I'm taking him home. You, on the other hand, are going home with Connor."

"But - "

"Come along, Duncan," Connor said, holding his coat. "The couch is made up for you."

"The couch? But I want to go home - I mean, back to Adam's place."

"The night before your wedding? You shock me.  "Besides, I have a responsibility to get you to the wedding in decent shape."

"Yeah," Joe said. "And don't you know it's bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other between the rehearsal dinner and the wedding? You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Of course not, but - "

"Then say 'Good-night, Adam' and toddle off like a good little Immortal."

Methos laughed and shook his head. "Give it up, Mac; you can't win." He reached out to caress Duncan's cheek briefly and said, softly, "See you tomorrow afternoon at the altar."

Duncan caught his hand and kissed the palm. "It's a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interesting bit of history: this is a picture of "Ben", a member of the Wild Bunch. There were two regular "Bens" who rode with Butch and Sundance - Ben Kilpatrick, called the Tall Texan, and Ben Beeson. Although Kilpatrick's exploits are well documented, less is written about Beeson so I've taken a few liberties and "appropriated" him.
> 
>  
> 
>  


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the big day - Duncan and Methos' wedding - [so check out their Wedding Scrapbook here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9738435) There are links to the music mentioned in this chapter, as well as pictures of the rings, tartan and sword.

Duncan paced the length of the bedroom, paused at the window to stare out over the grounds of the Valincourt estate, then paced back to the door. He repeated the pattern again and again, until Connor finally let out an exasperated growl.

"If you don't stop pacing and sit down, I'm going to _tie_ you to a chair," the elder Scot threatened. Duncan ignored him, pausing again by the window to scan the grounds anxiously.  "What in hell are you looking for?"

"Methos," Duncan said, distractedly. "I can't sense him anywhere."

Connor wondered how any student of his could be so dense. "Of course you can't."

Duncan said impatiently, "You don't understand. Since we shared that Quickening, I've been able to tell if he was nearby as well as sense if he's in danger. But I can't feel _anything_."

"With all the other Immortals here?"

"What if he's not here, Connor?" Duncan sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "I forced him into this. I cornered him and made him agree to marry me. I even threatened to haul him to the altar at knifepoint."

"He didn't look like he was objecting yesterday," Connor said dryly.

"That was yesterday. What if he changed his mind today?"

"What if you settle down before I get Dr. Fremont to sedate you?"

The door opened and Duncan looked up quickly then, seeing it was Richie, got up and went back to his pacing.

"Guys, you have _got_ to see the spread downstairs!" Richie said exuberantly. "I haven't seen so much food in my _life_. I snagged one of these puff things while the caterers weren't looking. I think it's some kinda seafood." He popped the pastry into his mouth and closed his eyes in ecstasy. "God, that's fucking _incredible_."

Connor eyed Richie in disapproval, noting that a mere fifteen minutes alone had wrecked his appearance. "I take back my offer, Duncan. The kid would eat me out of house and home within a day." He cornered Richie and attempted to repair the damage to his attire.

"I can't help it, I'm hungry!" Richie said. "You guys dragged me outta bed before _breakfast_ to go to _church_! On a Saturday!"

"That's generally where you find a priest," Connor said as he retied Richie's black bowtie.

Richie rolled his eyes but knew the futility of arguing with the elder MacLeod. And the priest had been kinda cool, actually, just a normal guy. Well, as normal as an Immortal could be.

He glanced over at Duncan, watching him pace back and forth. "What's up with him?"

"Nerves." Connor straightened the white rose in Richie's buttonhole and checked to see that the kid hadn't lost the gold cufflinks Duncan had given each of his groomsmen as a gift.

"Don't tell me he's getting cold feet?" Richie said in disbelief. "After all of this? The Old Guy will _kill_ him!"

"It's not cold feet," Connor said reassuringly. "He's just concerned that Methos might not be here."

Richie grinned. "No problem there. I saw Joe downstairs and he was grinning like _he_ was the one getting hitched. No way he'd be like that if Adam had split."

"You hear that, Duncan?" Connor said, turning back to his cousin. Duncan ignored him,  his attention on the door as it opened again.

"Joe!" Duncan cried, barely restraining himself from grabbing the other man's tux sleeve and yanking him into the room. "Thank God! He's here, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's here," Joe said soothingly. "And in better shape than you, apparently. When I left him, he was sitting calmly reading a book." Joe didn't add that the book was upside down and Methos' attention anywhere but on the printed page. In Duncan's current condition, that would probably send him over the edge.

Duncan visibly relaxed. "Good." Then he frowned. "He's not even the least bit anxious?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest, Mac. You're gonna be so worn out, you won't make it to the wedding night, much less the honeymoon. Speaking of which, where are you taking him?"

The distraction worked; Duncan gave him an amused look. "Are you spying for him, Joe? Trying to get me to tell you so you can tell him?"

Joe shrugged. "Told him it wouldn't work."

Duncan's smile widened. "Just like him to try it, though. You can tell him we're staying in town tonight but the rest is a surprise."

The door opened again and Alexandra came in. "Is Duncan still pacing?" she asked with a grin. "Gina said to let you know they're ready."

"Then I expect I'd better get my guy moving," Joe said, leaving the room.

Alex surveyed the three remaining men with satisfaction, her eyes lingering on her husband with loving warmth. "They're holding a place for me up front, so I'm going on down."

Connor nodded, giving her his rare, warm smile. "I'll see you after the ceremony."

"I'm counting on it," she said, smiling back as she kissed him, then slipped out of the room.

Connor turned back to Duncan, but now that the moment had arrived, his nerves appeared to have settled as well. The worry lines on his forehead had smoothed out and Duncan was carefully checking the set of his kilt and dress sporran in the mirror. Connor picked up the formal Prince Charlie jacket from where it lay across the end of the bed and held it up so that Duncan could easily slip into it.

A final look in the mirror assured Duncan that his tie was straight and his loosened hair looked acceptable. He picked up the wakizashi from where it lay on the bed, having decided to carry Methos' wedding gift today instead of his usual katana, then turned to Connor.

"You're sure you have the rings?"

Connor gave him an exasperated sigh and pushed him towards the door. "Would you quit worrying?"

"I'd worry a lot less if you'd answer the question," Duncan pointed out.

"Yes, I have the rings. And the tartan and the brooch. So concentrate on getting to the altar and remembering what you're supposed to say."

Duncan nodded, his face clouding slightly. The original plan had been for John to carry the rings during the ceremony, and John's refusal to attend combined with Anne's sudden and unexpected desertion seemed ominous. The two children were special to him; till recently, he had thought that they would be the closest he'd have to children of his own, unless he chose to adopt as Connor had. Strange to think that he was going to have children of his own in a few short months, that they were even now growing within the man he loved so completely.

"Duncan," Connor said quietly, jarring him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry. I was wool-gathering." Duncan drew in a deep breath and let it out, then smiled. "Let's get me married."

The side stairs took them down to the first floor and out a side entrance into the garden where Malcolm, Rachel and Amanda waited. Both women's faces lit up with appreciative smiles and Amanda raked a bold glance down his body that made him flush slightly.

"Duncan MacLeod, you look good enough to eat," she purred at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek and then murmured audaciously in his ear, "I'll bet Adam will think so, too." Stepping back, she pretended to fan herself as she said, "There's just something about a man in a kilt..."

He gave her a murderous look, then kissed Rachel's cheek and shook Malcolm's hand. "Are we ready?" he asked, giving Rachel a questioning look as he saw her empty hands.

"Aye," Rachel said, nodding. "I've got it safely put aside, ready against the moment."

"Gina says whenever you're ready," Amanda added. "They're waiting in the wings."

The thought of Methos waiting for him somewhere ahead quickened his pulse and he nodded to Malcolm. The skirl of the pipes awakened an answering thrum within his blood. During his pre-Immortal life, the sound of bagpipes had been an integral part of his world, in celebration and grieving and war.  It was fitting that they lead him into this new phase of his life.

The pipes flowed smoothly into the stately melody of "Laura's Wedding March" and just as smoothly, Duncan pulled the short sword from its sheath, handing that to Richie. The piper paced ahead of him, as Pipers had always led the MacLeods toward their destiny, and Duncan fell into step behind him, his bare sword proudly held in his hand. A pace behind and to each side walked the two men who had become his closest kin since his exile so many years earlier: Connor, cousin and friend, teacher and shield, on his left, and Richie, son of his heart, student and sword-arm, on his right. Behind them walked Amanda and Rachel, each a strong woman and important to his personal Clan. Now there was only one person who needed to be added for his world to be complete.

Duncan could hear the appreciative murmurs of the gathered Immortals as his party moved along the path in rhythm with the march, but he paid little attention. There, ahead, he could feel the siren song of a familiar Presence calling to him, the sweet and complex thrum drawing him inexorably forward.

On the edge of the covered pavilion, Duncan paused as the piping swirled to a finish. His eyes fixed on the figure standing alone in the center. Methos looked like he was straight out of a classic film: slender elegance in stark black and white, deceptive strength as refined and deadly as the sword he carried. Beautiful and unknown.

Then their eyes met and one corner of Methos' mouth quirked up in that way of his, and suddenly it was his friend and lover standing there, not a stranger. Duncan could feel an answering smile of relief on his own lips.

He turned to Richie and held out his sword, entrusting it and his safety to him, aware that Methos was going through the same ritual with Julian. Unarmed, displaying his trust and allowing himself to be vulnerable before another Immortal, he moved towards the waiting priest and his intended, feeling as if his heart would pound out of his chest with every step.

Father Liam waited for them to meet before him and smiled reassuringly, then looked beyond them to the guests watching with quiet attention. "Honored guests and friends, we come together today to witness one of the most important events in any life, the day when two people come together and pledge their love and their future to each other.

"Today Adam and Duncan come before us, inviting us to witness this joyous occasion in their lives. In the world in which we live, the union between them is not recognized by either Church or State, so it falls to us, their friends, to acknowledge what they are to each other, to celebrate and support their  commitment."

Father Liam said, solemnly, "Adam, will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you love him, honor and keep him, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will."

Methos' voice was steady, assured, and Duncan took heart so that he was able to meet Father Liam's eyes with a semblance of calm.

"Duncan, will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you love him, honor and keep him, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will." Duncan was proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake, although his heart was pounding so hard that he was sure that Methos and Father Liam could hear it.

The priest looked at the guests and spoke to them. "There is an art to marriage, as those who have been married can attest. I'd like to share some thoughts on the Art of Marriage."

 

 _"The little things are the big things._  
_It is never being too old to hold hands_  
_It is remembering to say 'I love you' at least once a day_  
_It is never going to sleep angry_  
_It is at no time taking the other for granted_  
_The courtship should not end with the honeymoon,_  
_it should continue through all the years._  
_It is having a mutual sense of values and common objectives._  
_It is standing together facing the world._  
_It is forming a circle of love that gathers in the whole family._  
_It is doing things for each other, not in the attitude of duty or sacrifice,_  
_But in the spirit of joy._  
_It is cultivating flexibility, patience, understanding_  
_And a sense of humor_  
_It is having the capacity to forgive and forget._  
_It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow._  
_It is finding room for the things of the spirit._  
_It is a common search for the good and beautiful._  
_It is establishing a relationship in which_  
_The independence is equal,_  
_Dependence is mutual,_  
_And obligation is reciprocal._  
_It is not only marrying the right partner._  
_It is being the right partner."_ 1

He paused, then turned back to the pair in front of him. "Who speaks as Witness for these two, avowing that they are free in heart and body, without obligation to any others?"

"We do." Amanda stepped from behind Richie and Connor, coming to stand in front of Duncan, and Duncan could see Gina doing the same on Methos' side. Amanda smiled at him as she took his right hand in hers and leaned forward to brush a kiss against his cheek.

"Be happy, dear friend," she whispered, and he found that he had a lump in his throat as he nodded. Then she placed his hand in Methos' right hand, and stepped away.

Methos' hand was cool, the first sign Duncan had seen of Methos' own nervousness, and he squeezed it reassuringly. At least neither of them was shaking in terror, although he wasn't entirely sure his voice would work enough for him to make his vows. But Methos' eyes were on his, steady and certain, and Duncan felt reassured as he opened his mouth to speak.

_"Tha mise Duncan a-nis 'gad ghabhail-sa Adam gu bhith 'nam cheile posda. Ann am fianais Dhe 's na tha seo de fhianaisean tha mise a gealltainn a bhith 'nam fhear posda dileas gradhach agus tairis dhuitsa, cho fad's a bhios an dithis againn beo."_

In the silence that followed, Duncan wasn't entirely sure if he had spoken aloud in Gaelic or had only thought in the language of his youth while speaking English, but it didn't seem to matter for Methos' eyes said he knew what Duncan had said. Then Methos was speaking, echoing his words.

"I, Adam, now take you, Duncan, to be my husband. In the presence of God and before these witnesses I promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal husband to you, for as long as we both shall live."

Father Liam turned to Connor and he placed the matching gold rings in the priest's hand. Liam held the rings over their joined hands as he said, "Adam and Duncan have chosen to wear these rings as a sign of their union. On the surface are inscribed three circles - two small, separate circles and one large circle joining the other two. These rings symbolize the two circles of their lives joining to form a new one. May God grant that each time they look upon these rings, they recall that together the two become more than the sum of their lives."

He took the first ring and handed it to Methos, who took Duncan's left hand in his as he said, "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow." He slid the ring onto Duncan's finger. Duncan took the other ring, repeating the words and actions, sliding the heavy gold ring into place on Methos' hand.

"At this time, Adam and Duncan wish to make personal vows to each other. Adam?"

Methos turned to Julian, accepting the flat object his former student handed to him, and turned back to Duncan. His eyes caught Duncan's as he began reciting:

 

 _"'When to the sessions of sweet silent thought_  
_I summon up remembrance of things past,_  
_I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,_  
_And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste_  
_Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,_  
_For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,_  
_And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,_  
_And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:_  
_Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,_  
_And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er_  
_The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,_  
_Which I new pay as if not paid before._  
_But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,_  
_All losses are restor'd and sorrows end_ " 2

Then he took Duncan's hand in his, giving him the object he held as he murmured, in a soft voice that only Duncan could hear, 

 _'Although they are only breath,_  
_words_  
_which I command_  
_are immortal.'_ " 3

 

Duncan looked down at the cool object in his hands, barely aware that one of the band members had brought out a stool and that Joe had settled on it with his guitar. As the soft strains of "In My Life" washed over him, he saw that he held a jewel case, the kind you kept computer CDs in.  Puzzled, he turned it over in his hands to read the title. The cover had only three words on it, "Methos: Part One".

He looked up at Methos, puzzled, and murmured, "Watcher chronicles?"

"No," he said softly. "My personal ones."

Duncan's breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened, meeting Methos' in stunned surprise. Suddenly the poem, the disk, and the song all came together, and he understood what it was Methos was giving him. His past. All of it, good and bad, joys and sorrows - Methos was opening up and sharing it with him. No, more than that. Trusting him with all that he was.

Joe's singing washed over him, making his throat suddenly ache.

 _"But of all these friends and lovers_  
_There is no one compares with you_  
_And these memories lose their meaning_  
_When I think of love as something new..._  
_In my life I love you more"  4_

 

In the silence that followed Joe's last chord, Duncan leaned closer to Methos and breathed, "I love you, old man."

Methos' mouth twitched up at the corner and his eyes crinkled with a smile. "I know."

Duncan wanted to kiss him but he was aware of their audience and afraid that once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. So instead he took a step back, turning towards Connor as he slipped the precious data disk into his sporran. Connor seemed to realize Duncan was too overcome to speak, so he stepped forward to begin his part of the ritual.

"Adam, in marrying Duncan today, you do more than join with one person. You have now become a part of our family, our clan. And so it is my honor and privilege as senior member to welcome you to Clan MacLeod." As he spoke, Connor pulled a large pleated square of tartan out of his sporran and pinned it to Methos' lapel with a silver brooch bearing the clan crest and motto. "Welcome, kinsman and sword-brother," he said, embracing Methos warmly.

"Speaking of swords," Duncan said, having recovered his equilibrium. Rachel came to his side, a tartan-wrapped bundle in her arms. Methos' eyes widened slightly; he recognized that bundle, having carried it around in his car the previous year while trying to save Duncan from the Dark Quickening. Duncan unwrapped the sword and held it up to the light. Appreciative murmurs from their audience filled the quiet.

"This sword belonged to my father, and before him to generations of MacLeods. It has been the symbol of my family for years, both in times of war and in times of peace. It has turned back the darkness and danced in the light." Duncan lowered the sword, resting the blade on his forearm as he extended the hilt towards Methos. "And from this day forward, it is yours."

Methos blinked. It wasn't often that anyone surprised him, but Duncan had. Again.

"Duncan, you can't," he murmured, even as his hand stretched out to caress the hilt. It was a lovely thing, not just of itself but what it represented to Duncan. "Rachel..."

"It has always been Duncan's to claim or no," Rachel said softly. "Come; you cannae turn down a bridal gift at the altar. 'Twould be an insult to the family."

"Can't have that happening," Methos agreed, feeling breathless as his hand closed around the hilt. Rachel smiled and stepped back, letting the two men have some privacy. "All right. But I'm only holding it in trust for our son."

"Or daughter," Duncan added softly, grinning at the look on Methos' face. It wasn't often that he got to see this softer, sweeter side and, although he loved the irascible lover he had won, he cherished moments like this, too.

Methos nodded, his eyes on the blade as he lifted it, gauging its weight and balance in his hand. It was as sweet to hold as the man who had gifted it to him. "Heaven knows what I'll do with it, Mac. I can't carry it - "

"Yes, you can."

"But what if I lost a challenge? Your family would lose this forever."

"Then you'll just have to make sure you don't lose," Duncan said simply.

Methos was startled into a laugh. "I suppose I will." Reluctantly recalled to the ceremony they still had to finish, Methos turned to place the sword in Julian's hands. Then Father Liam reclaimed their attention, and Methos found his hand clasped in Duncan's again as the priest spoke the final affirmation.

"Forasmuch as Adam and Duncan have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and have given and pledged their troth each to the other, and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of rings and the joining of hands, I pronounce that they be married, now and for eternity. What God hath brought together, let no one put asunder." He smiled at Duncan and Adam. "You may kiss."

Methos grinned at Duncan, leaning closer as he said, "This was always my favorite part."

"Right," Duncan said, amused. "You got married sixty-eight times for a kiss at the altar?"

"Sixty-nine," Methos murmured, just before he kissed him.

Duncan slid his arms around Methos and decided that, as a reason for getting married, Methos' kisses were more than enough incentive. Not that he was going to let the other man kiss any other brides or grooms. Duncan intended to keep his mouth very, very busy for a long time.

It wasn't returning sanity or even the realization that they were kissing in front of fifty of their closest friends that broke them apart. It was the rattle of steel, the ominous sound of  swords being unsheathed, that made them turn, hands reaching for weapons that weren't there.

At the bottom of the stage stood Malcolm, waiting to pipe them to the reception. And behind him...behind him were two rows of Immortals, facing each other on each side of the pathway, swords in hand. On one side stood Connor and Amanda and Richie, and on the other side were Julian and Gina and Robert. Even as Methos and Duncan watched in horror, the two lines saluted each other and raised their weapons - and then crossed them high overhead forming an arch.

Before they had a chance to absorb what they were seeing or to acknowledge this surprise from their wedding party, there was a stirring in the audience. Marcus Constantine stood up, followed by his student, Ceirdwyn, and joined the six Immortals lining the path. They, too, unsheathed their swords and fell into place alongside the others. Then Remy and Cory were moving to join them, and Grace and Kyra, and Walter and Claudia...more and more Immortals rose and moved to join the line, more blades flashed in the sunlight. And when the movement stopped, Methos found himself staring at the most unbelievable sight of his long, long life: every Immortal there was standing, bare sword in hand, facing each other, but not in combat. What could have been disaster was instead the most amazing tribute he had ever witnessed.

He turned to look at Duncan and found that he looked just as stunned. And then the pipes were sounding again, the lively tune of "Mairi's Wedding" ringing out through the  garden, and all the people still sitting, mortal spouses and lovers and friends and Watchers, broke into spontaneous applause.  

Duncan couldn't help grinning and he reached out to grasp Methos' hand, pulling him close enough for a quick kiss.  Then they were following the piper, walking under that glittering archway, hand in hand into their future.

When they reached the terrace, Methos' Watcher friends were waiting, and Renee let out a squeal as she threw her arms around Methos.

"That was incredible!" she exclaimed. "I've never seen anything so wonderful. I almost fucking cried."

"That's our girl, class from head to toe," Evan said dryly.

Allen turned to Duncan, holding out his hand. "Congratulations, Mr. MacLeod. I hope you and Adam will be very happy together."

"Thank you," Duncan said, shaking the young Watcher's hand. "I'm sure we will be. And I'd like to thank all of you for coming today. I know how much Adam appreciates having his friends here."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Evan said. "Evan Cadfael, by the way, and that's Allen Graves, and Renee Miller."

"Pleased to meet you," Duncan said, shaking hands with Evan and then taking Renee's hand and kissing her cheek.

"That tears it," Allen laughed. "She won't wash her face for a week."

Renee made a face at him and was only interrupted from retorting in kind by the arrival of Rae and Taylor. Both of the anthropologists congratulated the couple and then Rae added, "You didn't tell me you were a member of one of those reenactment groups, Adam. Is that where you met Duncan?"

Methos' eyes danced as they met Duncan's. "Something like that."

"Well, I thought it was bloody wonderful," Taylor said. "That bit at the end reminded me of one of the aboriginal tribes we studied, not to mention it woke me up a bit after all that poetry."

"Speaking of poetry," Methos said, "my throat is dry as the Sahara. I could really use a- "

"Beer!" Five voices said in chorus and then burst into laughter.

Methos put his hands on his hips. "Well, I like that! Here it is, a big day in my life, and all you bloody bastards can do is poke at me."

Renee went off into gales of laughter, in between gasps of something that sounded like "MacLeod's job". Allen wrapped an arm around her and said cheerfully, "I'm just going to go stick Ren's head under a pump."

Duncan grinned as he watched them head off. "I like your friends, Adam. They seem pretty decent for Watchers."

"Watchers?" Rae asked.

"A re-enactor's term for someone who watches combats rather than participating," Methos said quickly. "Stick jocks like Mac can be very condescending." He glared at Duncan and he shrugged apologetically.

"MacLeod, what do you say we go hunt up some drinks for the ladies?" Taylor said.

Methos turned his glare on Taylor. "Hey, I'm not the one in the skirt."

"It's a kilt, you yobbo."

"Watch it, or I'll tell everyone what C.R. stands for," Methos threatened.

"Ooh, you got me scared now, mate," Taylor said admiringly, and led Duncan off. Once they got out of earshot of the other two, Taylor said, seriously, "I hope you weren't put off by Rae roasting you over the barbie the other night."

"Not in the least," Duncan assured him as he secured champagne glasses from a waiter. "I know she was concerned for Adam, worried that he'd gotten into bad company. Just like you."

"Me?" Taylor said, wide-eyed innocence.

Duncan's lips twitched; Taylor must have learned that trick from Methos. "I told you I've traveled a lot, and I've done a fair bit of scouting Down Under." Meeting Taylor's eyes, he said mildly, "I haven't seen anyone work that hard to make me think they were just a jackaroo since the fellow I met in the airport who tried to sell me a koala stun-gun."

Taylor grinned. "Very useful, those."

"Right," Duncan said dryly. "Keeps the ferocious little fellows from attacking you on the streets of Sydney. Try another, Dr. Taylor."

"Fair enough," Taylor said crisply as he straightened, all traces of the easy-going man from the Outback gone. He met Duncan's eyes directly. "When we heard those friends of Adam's talking about you...well, we got the impression that you were something of a Don Juan. Adam doesn't need the heartbreak, MacLeod; he was cut up enough when his girl died last year."

"I don't blame you, or Rae. I'm glad Adam has friends who care enough to interfere. I'm even more glad you decided I was harmless."

"Harmless?" Taylor said with a snort. "We're not complete fools, MacLeod. We just know Adam is safe with you."

"I hope so," Duncan said soberly, then held up his glasses. "We'd better get back with these or Adam will start a riot."

Methos' raised an eyebrow when Duncan handed him a champagne flute, and Duncan leaned forward to murmur, "It's a celebration, you're entitled. Just go easy, okay?"

Methos nodded and took advantage of their closeness to murmur, "So when do I get to find out what's under that kilt?"

Duncan gave him a mock-offended look. "What kind of bride do you think I am?"

"The kind who was flat on his back with his feet in the air just two days ago." Methos' hand slid around to caress Duncan's ass and then he goosed him.

Duncan was about to seek a suitable revenge when Robert's call for attention forestalled him. "Ladies and Gentlemen, if everyone will please take places at the tables and get a glass of champagne, the Best Men would like to make their toasts."

Once everyone had found a seat, Joe rose and turned to where Duncan and Methos were sitting. "As Adam's Best Man, I get to make the first toast," he said, and turned to give Duncan and Methos a half-smile. "I've known these characters for a couple years now, seen the two of them dance around each other most of that time. So I gotta say - it's about damn time!"

He waited for the laughter to die down, then lifted his glass. "Seriously, though, here's to Adam and Duncan. May you have many, many years together, may the good outweigh the bad, and may the sweet notes play louder than the sour ones."

Everyone raised their glasses amid echoes of "To Adam and Duncan" and then Connor stood up.

"Those of you who know me know I'm not the kind of man who likes to make speeches."

"Says who?" Duncan hooted.

"As I was _trying_ to say," Connor said, giving his cousin a pointed look, "I've known Duncan for most of his life. I've trained him, knocked a little sense into his fool head, and did what I could to get him started on the right path. But everything he's done since then he's done on his own merits, and I'm damned proud to know him, to say that he's my student."

He paused, taking a sip from his water glass before continuing. "I've only known Adam for a short time, although I expect we'll come to know each other much better over the years to come." His eyes gleamed and Methos had the suspicion that his new in-laws were going to become a regular fixture in his life. "What I do know about him, about the depth of his feeling for my cousin, touches me deeply. So Adam, if ever you need a sword at your side or someone to guard your back, you have only to call and the sword-arm of Connor MacLeod is yours."

The crowd hushed, wondering what it was that had made the taciturn Scot make so extravagant a pledge. "Not that you'll need it," Connor continued, "because I cannot think of a finer swordsman to have at your side than Duncan MacLeod, nor a more devoted brother to guard your back. May the two of you always be together, side by side and back to back." Connor lifted up his wine glass, "To Duncan and Adam. Happiness and long life to you both."

"To Duncan and Adam!" Voices rang out as the toasts were made, and then Methos stood up, glass in hand.

"Joe, Connor - thank you for your words and your kind wishes. And to all of our friends who have come here today to help us celebrate, thank you. Your presence here means more than we can possibly say." He paused. "And your presents will mean even more when I finish knocking some sense into this guy's head about where we're going to live." He grinned at Duncan's protest and waited for the laughs to die down. "Here's to our friends and families.  May the years before all of you be long and sweet."

When the echoes of "hear, hear" died down, Duncan rose as well. "My turn - and the first person who makes a crack about the bride..." He let the threat trail off with a glare, and there were several laughs. "Seriously, I'd like to thank all of you for coming today. Having you here with us today is a memory I will always treasure. And I am especially grateful to Gina and Robert, our hosts, whose hard work and generosity made this day possible, and whose abiding love and dedication is an inspiration to us all. To Gina and Robert!"

Enthusiastic responses echoed this toast as Duncan sat down, and he could see Gina flush with pleasure at a table across the way. And then, with a mischievous look in her eyes, she picked up her knife and tapped it against her glass. Others joined in, looking pointedly at the bridal couple, and Methos gave Duncan a questioning look. "What're they doing?"

Duncan grinned at him. "Been a while since you've been to a wedding?"

"Maybe," he said. "So?"

"We're supposed to kiss when they do that."

Methos gave him an appalled look. "Bloody hell, Mac! Knowing this crowd, they'll be doing that every time we turn around.  We'll never get a bite or drink in edgewise."

"Think of it as a challenge."

"I'm thinking of just ignoring it completely."

"And give up the chance to make out in public?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." He stopped talking as Duncan's mouth covered his, barely hearing the applause and whistles from their audience. He knew he was grinning like an idiot when they parted but he didn't care.

"Adam," Gina said, clearing her throat delicately to get his attention. "The band is ready for the first dance."

Methos rolled his eyes at Duncan. "See what I mean? An ocean of food and drink, and between everything we've got to do, we'll be lucky to get a bite."

He got up from the table and held out his hand to his new husband, and Duncan grinned and let Methos lead him to the dance floor. He looked over at the stage where the band was conferring over their first number. Gina had assured Duncan that they played everything from soft rock to Gershwin and that his list of requested songs was acceptable, so he didn't feel _too_ worried about what Methos had selected, not until Methos gave him a wicked look that immediately put him on guard.

"Adam..."

Methos nodded to the band and the guitarist played a riff that sounded anything but danceable to Duncan, even when the drummer joined in with a driving beat.

"Wild thing," the lead singer belted out. "You make my heart sing."

Duncan turned. "Adam!" he roared.

Methos gestured for the band to halt, an innocent look on his face. "What?"

"You know very well what! I refuse to dance to that - that - _noise_!"

Methos' grin widened and Duncan knew he'd been had. "Gotcha."

Duncan heard their audience laugh and couldn't help smiling at his unrepentant spouse. Methos gestured to the band again and this time the guitarist began playing something softer. Mollified, Duncan let Methos take him in his arms and guide him across the floor as the singer softly began to croon.

 

" _When the night has come and the land is dark_  
_and the moon is the only light we'll see_  
_No I won't be afraid, oh I won't be afraid_  
_Just as long as you stand, stand by me..."  5  
_

 

Methos smiled at him, a twinkle in his eyes. "Better?" The look in those eyes said he knew he'd gotten Duncan and wasn't going to let him forget it either, but Duncan didn't mind because Methos was holding him close, close enough to steal a kiss from him. Of course, Methos didn't have to know that. No sense in making the man any cockier than he was.

"It'll do," he said, just to hear Methos laugh. Feeling a bone-deep contentment, Duncan relaxed in Methos' arms, content to let his new husband guide their course for now.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Duncan felt a prickle of apprehension wash over him, as if something mysterious and dangerous touched him and moved onward. He stopped in the midst of talking to Grace, looking around him warily.

"Did you feel that?" he asked.

Grace gave him a puzzled look. "What?"

"You didn't feel anything...unusual?"

She smiled in amusement. "Duncan, we're in the middle of fifty Immortals, each buzzing like a hive of bees. What could be more unusual than that?"

He frowned. "It's something else." Automatically, he looked around for Methos and found him safely ensconced in the middle of a knot of men and women, telling an amusing story if the laughter was any indication. Only slightly relieved, he turned his attention back to Grace. 

Connor was discussing antiquities with Marcus when he felt the wash of Power move over him. He shivered under its chill touch, his hand automatically going to rest on his sword as he scanned the room for the source of danger. Sorcery, that was plain enough, but where? Oblivious, Marcus continued to talk as Connor slowly turned in a circle, all of his senses on alert.

 "What the - " Joe said abruptly, his eyes on the doorway to the house.

Amanda and Richie turned to see what had caught his attention.  Amanda's eyes widened at the sight of the stately woman in white standing on the terrace. "Cassandra? I didn't know Duncan invited her."

"He didn't," Joe said grimly. "She tried to take Adam's head a couple months back and Duncan stopped her. You head her off while Richie and I find Mac."

Amanda headed on an intercept course for the other Immortal woman. "Cassandra! What a pleasure to see you again. And what a surprise! I didn't know you were in the area."

Cassandra looked at her and Amanda caught her breath at the strange look in the woman's eyes. "You will not stop me," Cassandra said and, to Amanda's own surprise, she found herself stepping out of the way. There was something she had to do...talk with Gina, that was it. In a daze, Amanda turned and walked over to the dance floor in search of their hostess.

Joe and Richie found Duncan still talking with Grace, and Joe tugged Duncan's sleeve. "Trouble, Mac. Cassandra's here."

"Hell," Duncan muttered, looking around. Joe was right.  There was Cassandra, heading straight for Methos with single-minded intent. Heart in his throat, he hurried toward them.

Connor got there first, bare sword in hand as he stood between Cassandra and her prey. "Stop right there, Witch."

Startled, the rest of the guests swung around and gawked at the sight of the beautiful raven-haired woman facing down the tall Scot. Methos' eyes widened and he handed the glass in his hand to Remy before moving to stand behind Connor.

"You will let me pass," Cassandra said, her eyes locked on Connor's.

A partial smile twisted his lips. "Your magic won't work on me, Witch. And I've sworn to protect my new kinsman with my life."

"I mean him no harm," Cassandra said soothingly. "I've come to bestow my own wishes on the happy couple."

Duncan arrived at Connor's side. "You're not welcome here, Cassandra. Leave now and you can keep your head."

She drew herself up, her eyes glittering. "You're threatening me?"

Before Duncan could reply, Methos intervened between the two, facing Duncan and placing a restraining hand on his chest. "Wait, Mac. She's gone to this much trouble, the least we can do is hear her out."

"I'm not interested in anything she has to say," Duncan said sharply, but Methos' eyes locked on his.

"I _owe_ her, Duncan."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then, reluctantly, Duncan nodded. "Connor," he said quietly. Connor lowered his sword but didn't sheathe it as he moved to the side, and his eyes remained fixed on the witch as she moved forward.

Methos turned around and stood silent before her. They stood there for a long moment, eyes locked, as Cassandra appeared to assess him. Duncan placed his hands on Methos' shoulders, silently offering his support, and Cassandra seemed to add him to her assessment.

Off to the side watching, Richie leaned closer to Joe. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Reminds me of that bit in fairy tales, where the spurned fairy shows up at the celebration to give a trick gift or make a prophecy of doom," Joe muttered back, as he and Richie moved closer to be ready to defend Methos. To his deepening fear, he saw that the other guests had returned to their previous conversations, as if nothing was happening.

In a voice rich with Power, Cassandra spoke. "That which was between us can never be forgiven, but it is...transcended by this miracle." Cassandra reached out, hand hovering over his abdomen. "Your head is no longer forfeit to me."

"Thank God," Duncan murmured.

"But I have a prophecy as well."

"See, what did I tell you?" Joe muttered.

"There will come a day when you must choose between him," Cassandra indicated Duncan, "and them. If you choose wisely, they will all live. If you choose ill, you will lose them all and the world will be plunged into chaos for a thousand years."

Duncan caught his breath at the direness of her words but Methos didn't flinch. "Thank you, Oracle," he said gravely. "I will heed your words."

Cassandra inclined her head and returned the way she came, silent and sure-footed, a ghost moving among the revelers. For a long moment, the five of them stared after her, dumbfounded, and then Richie broke the silence.

"What the hell was _that_ about?"

Duncan squeezed Methos' shoulders as he leaned forward to murmur, "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Mac." Methos drew in a deep breath and turned, mustering up a trace of his usual smart-ass self as he shrugged in reply to Richie's question. "Hell if I know. A little early for Halloween, wasn't she?"

Connor raised an eyebrow but only said quietly, as he sheathed his sword, "Unusual enemies you make, Cousin Adam."

Methos shrugged. "Just a knack I have."

"The question is," Duncan said, "what did she mean by what she said?"

"The question is," Methos said mockingly, "what does a man have to do to get something to eat around here?"

"She knew about the...you know," Joe said, gesturing vaguely at Methos.

Richie rolled his eyes. "Well, _duh_. She's a _witch_ , Joe."

"Yes, but - " Duncan began.

"But I refuse to let Cassandra ruin this day," Methos said firmly. "I'm heading for the buffet table before some damn idiot sees the two of us standing together and starts banging their glass again."

He headed for the dining room and, after exchanging a look with Duncan, Connor followed him with the excuse of fetching something sweet for Alex. Joe regarded Duncan's pensive look with misgiving but Duncan caught him and gave him a half-smile.

"It's okay, Joe. I'm not brooding, just thinking about precautions."

"You think she's gonna try for him again?" Joe asked baldly.

Duncan shook his head. "She said she wouldn't and I believe her, but that doesn't mean someone else won't. It's time to get him onto holy ground, and that's going to be my first priority when we get back from the honeymoon. Speaking of which," he said, turning to Richie, "my suitcase and suit bag are upstairs, and Adam's should be as well. Would you make sure they make it into the limo? I have a feeling Connor's going to have other things on his mind for the next few hours."

Richie nodded and grinned at him, and Duncan added cautiously, "And Rich - no tricks. I know where you live, and I can make every future sparring practice hell."

"Like you don't already?" Richie said wryly. He caught the keys Duncan tossed to him and headed off on his mission, leaving Duncan and Joe alone.

Sensing that Duncan didn't want to talk about Cassandra, Joe said, "So what did the old man give you earlier?"

Duncan looked at Joe in surprise. "He didn't tell you?"

Joe shrugged. "Just said something cryptic about it being a tangible representation of the intangible, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean."

A smile touched the corners of Duncan's mouth. "The past, Joe," he said softly. "And the future." The beginning strains of "Unforgettable" reached his ears and he grinned, then reached out to touch Joe's arm. "And now I'm going to go drag his skinny ass out on the floor and make him dance to some sappy love songs with me."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Like to live dangerously, don't you, Mac?"

Duncan grinned. "It's the only way."

 

* * *

 

It had been a hell of a party, Methos thought contentedly two hours later, looking around the darkening garden, lit at strategic points by carefully placed lanterns. The ceremony had gone off well and Duncan had been genuinely touched by his offering. All of his friends and most of Duncan's had stopped him to offer best wishes, and he'd even managed to get a few bites to eat in between the toasts and cake cutting, not to mention all the dances Duncan had insisted on dragging him through.

Duncan seemed to be enjoying himself, too. Methos could see him a short distance away, his eyes sparkling with good humor and more than a little good champagne. He certainly hadn't let Cassandra's unexpected appearance ruin the evening and had been remarkably light-hearted, as Methos could testify from the bit of cake Duncan had smashed against his lips earlier. Of course, Duncan had then insisted on cleaning up the mess he'd made - with his tongue. Not that Methos, or their audience, had minded.

Thinking of that tongue stirred other parts of Methos and he decided that it was time to take this party to a more private location. With a more than slightly predatory smile of anticipation, Methos approached the little group where Duncan was standing.

"Hullo, there," he said, noting with a bit of surprise and no little trepidation that Duncan was talking intently with Remy and Ceirdwyn. "Mind if I borrow Mac for a bit?"

"Of course not," Ceirdwyn said graciously and Methos' eyes narrowed even more. Duncan was giving him the bland, innocent look that fooled no one but Methos decided to let it pass for now. After all, he had a whole week to worm whatever was going on out of the man.

"What did you want me for?" Duncan asked, letting Methos draw him away.

Methos gave him a sideways grin. "That's a loaded question, but I'll settle for a dance."

Duncan gave him a suspicious look. "You want to dance? When I had to _drag_ you onto the floor the last time?"

"That's because the gleam in your eyes told me you were going to try to dip me."

"Can I help it if 'More' begs for dipping?"

"Pathetic, Mac," Methos said.

The band had just finished a song and he let go of Duncan's hand with a little "stay here" motion, then wandered over to the stage to let the lead singer know it was time for his final surprise for Duncan. The man nodded and gestured to the woman who had been playing keyboard and singing backup and came forward to take the microphone.  A soft, sultry tune began playing, and the woman's voice was just as sultry as she began singing.

But none of that could hold a candle to the man making his way over to Duncan, his eyes as hot and smoky with desire as the words, his movements as sensuous and liquid as the music, his hips accentuating the drumbeat in a way that made Duncan swallow.

 

_" The look of love_  
_It's saying so much more_  
_Than just words could ever say_  
_And what my heart has heard_  
_Well, it takes my breath away... "  6_

 

Methos' arms pulled him right up against his body, and Duncan felt his own breath taken away by the heat that blazed through him everywhere they touched. Methos released him slightly, moving him into a dance hold, his right hand resting on Duncan's hip, and he felt as if it was burning through the cloth of his kilt. Methos moved him through the dance effortlessly, as if they were one person shadow-dancing instead of two, all the while making Duncan aware of the body pressed so close to his. Methos' silk-encased thigh moved between the folds of Duncan's kilt with every other step of the rumba. And the look in those golden-green eyes was surely illegal in every civilized country in the world. They certainly made Duncan feel like doing something illegal and immoral, not to mention downright pornographic, right there and then. A hint of a smile at the corner of Methos' mouth told him that the other man was well aware of the effect he was having on Duncan, but he didn't care. He hoped this dance would never end, that it would be over so he could take his sex-on-two-legs spouse somewhere private and ravish him. Probably more than once.

 

_" Let this be just the start of_  
_So many nights like this._  
_Let's take a lover's vow and then_  
_Seal it with a kiss "_

 

He couldn't resist stealing a kiss from Methos, feeling the laugh against his lips as he did so. The old tease knew exactly what he was doing to Duncan, had probably planned every single move from the moment the dance started, through to his orgasmic release buried deep inside Duncan's body that Duncan fervently hoped would be soon. And he didn't mind in the least; one had to admire a man who was such a good strategist.

"I want you," he murmured in Methos' ear during the instrumental bridge of the song, not caring at this moment whether the couples dancing nearby could hear him or not. If there were any other couples dancing.  He had the feeling that they were alone on the floor again.

Methos laughed softly. "If you'll recall, I tried to talk you into the broom closet earlier but you were worried about your virtue being sullied."

"The hell with my virtue," Duncan growled. "If I don't get you in private soon, I'm going to damage something permanently."

"I hope not," Methos said, managing to rub his leg against Duncan's groin while keeping the rhythm of the dance. "That would make a mess of the honeymoon, wouldn't it?"

"Methos," Duncan groaned, but Methos didn't seem inclined to take pity on him.

 

 _"I can hardly wait to hold you,_  
_Feel my arms around you_  
_How long I have waited_  
_Waited just to love you_  
_Now that I have found you_  
_Don't ever go..."_

 

The song was winding to a close, and Duncan didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. He made a mental note to get a copy of the song on CD so he could reenact this dance whenever he wanted. In private. Preferably while stripping each other naked. Methos laughed softly as if reading every thought in Duncan's head, and then shifted their weight so that Duncan was leaning backwards and...

No, surely he wasn't going to...

Yes, he was.

Methos dipped him.

"That's it," Duncan muttered, at the end of his endurance and, fortunately, the end of the song as well. He breathed a sigh of relief and dragged Methos off in search of Gina. She was conferring with Robert when he located her. "Gina," he began, determined to leave no matter how disappointed she was.

So he was surprised when the first words out of her mouth were, "There you are, Duncan! The limo is here; Richie has put your suitcases in it. I think it is time to make your escape, yes?"

"Yes," Duncan said thankfully. "It's been wonderful, Gina, and I am indebted to you forever for this."

Her eyes twinkled at him. "We shall see how indebted the next time Robert and I have an argument, shall we? So - I shall spread the word that it is time to throw the bouquet." She hurried off, gathering up guests, leaving Duncan to look at Methos blankly.

"Bouquet?"

Methos smirked. "You promised, Mac. If I wore the garter, you'd throw the bouquet."

"But I don't have one."

"An oversight I anticipated," Methos said, a full grin breaking out, as he gestured towards the cake table. Duncan blanched as he saw the large confection of roses and baby's breath bound up with pink ribbons lying there. He shot Methos a murderous look but the old flirt just grinned and insinuated himself into a chair, sliding his right foot out of his shoe and flexing his leg suggestively.

"Well, Mac? Care to strip off the garter?" he asked, leering with his eyebrows.

Duncan couldn't help but laugh at the audacity of the man.  He stood in front of Methos so that he could set his foot on Duncan's thigh. "You're shameless," he said, shaking his head.

Methos grinned. "And aren't you glad?"

By now, they'd gathered an amused crowd in various stages of sobriety, and Duncan played up to them by slowly sliding Methos' pants leg up to impromptu stripping music from some of the drunker guests. He couldn't help laughing out loud at the sight of the black lace garter stitched with hearts that embraced Methos' calf.

"Basic black. How classy."

"Was there any doubt?"

Slowly, Duncan slid the garter down Methos' leg, his eyes conveying the message that he intended to strip off a lot more before long, and then he was dangling the lacy confection from his fingers as he contemplated their audience for potential targets. There, and he wasn't even paying attention, which was perfect. Duncan took aim and let fly - and the lacy garter splashed into the champagne flute Nick held in his hand, surprising him so much that he nearly dropped it. Peels of laughter greeted this, as well as a murderous look from Amanda, but Nick responded with remarkable aplomb as he fished the damp article out of his drink, held it up in salute to them, and then slipped it on his arm. Duncan thought that Amanda would faint, and there was a possibility Methos would damage something important if he kept laughing like that.

Methos managed to pull himself together enough to slip his shoe back on and saunter over to the table to fetch the enormous bouquet, presenting it to Duncan with a flourishing bow. Duncan gave him a glare, resolving to get even later, and prepared to pitch the flowers into the waiting arms of the women lined up to catch it.

"No, you must turn your back, like so," Gina scolded, turning him till he was facing away from the women. "Now, over your shoulder!"

Duncan tossed the unwieldy confection of flowers somewhat awkwardly over his shoulder and, hearing the laughs, turned to see Remy holding up the bouquet with a triumphant air. She blew a kiss to him and he laughed, then turned to his grinning husband.

Husband.

The word made his breath catch in his chest. And then Methos was holding out his hand, saying something about running for it and that sounded like an excellent idea. Hand in hand, they raced through the house and down the steps, ducking the birdseed pelting them, and into the limo for a quick escape.

Duncan sat catching his breath, aware that Methos was grinning at him, bits of birdseed clinging to his hair.

"Well, Mrs. Pierson," Methos said, "how does it feel to be an old married man?"

Duncan's smile widened. "Pretty damn good, Mrs. MacLeod. Pretty damn good." He picked the birdseed out of Methos' hair, then wrapped his hand around the back of Methos' neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> 1 "The Art Of Marriage", author unknown
> 
> 2 William Shakespeare, Sonnet
> 
> 3 Sappho
> 
> 4 "In My Life" performed by John Denver
> 
> 5 "Stand by Me" performed by Ben E. King
> 
> 6 "The Look of Love" performed by Susanna Hoffs


	38. Chapter 38

Methos responded so enthusiastically to Duncan's kiss that it was several minutes before Duncan realized that those busy hands had also opened his shirt while they were kissing, and the sinfully talented mouth of his new spouse was making its way down his exposed flesh.

And then Methos gave him a wicked grin while one of his hands flirted with the bare skin between Duncan's kilt and hose. "I believe you promised to let me discover what you were wearing under here," he said, sliding his hands further up the bare thighs.

"Methos!" Duncan hissed, flushing and jerking his head in the direction of the limo driver.

"Relax," Methos murmured, leaning forward to nibble at Duncan's neck. "The windows are tinted, the privacy shield is up, and I doubt we're the first newlyweds to make out in this limo. Besides," he said, letting his hands drift up Duncan's leg to give his erection the slightest hint of a touch. "It would be much more embarrassing to go into the hotel sporting this. I think I should take care of it for you."

"Be my guest," Duncan managed before his lover's bold hand did just that. He gasped at the feel of strong slender fingers caressing him and spread his legs to allow him better access. To his frustration, the hand abandoned his cock and moved back down his leg.

"I like to see what I'm working on." Methos unfastened the sporran and dropped it on the floor, then lifted the kilt to tuck the hem into Duncan's belt. "Much better," he purred, and one hand moved back to continue stroking.

Methos shifted to the floor, between Duncan's spread knees. He breathed on the hardened cock before him as his other hand trailed backward to flirt with Duncan's anus, and he grinned as he heard Duncan's groan. "I could get used to this kilt," he said with a look upward at Duncan. "Easy access to all the best parts."

Duncan thought his heart would stop at the erotic sight before him. Methos, still completely dressed in his tux, was kneeling before him. The kilt folds framed Methos' face as he looked up at Duncan, a glint in his eyes. Duncan couldn't recall ever seeing anything so sexy and couldn't take his eyes off Methos as he slowly drew Duncan's cock into his mouth. The sight of his hardened length sliding between those lips made Duncan groan again and his head fell back against the seat.

"Methos," he breathed. "So damn good..." Then he gave up trying to say anything coherent as his lover proceeded to suck his brains out through his dick.

When Duncan finally regained his wits enough to think about something other than breathing, he lifted his head to glance down at his lover. Methos was still kneeling, looking like the cat that had gotten into the cream, and Duncan had to laugh as he pulled him up onto the seat and into his arms.

"You're impossible," he murmured as he claimed Methos' mouth with an intense kiss. His hand moved down over the front of Methos' pants, only to be gently removed. He gave Methos a questioning look. "Don't you want...?"

"Unlike some people, I can contain myself," Methos said, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Besides, we're almost at the hotel."

"Shit!" Duncan said, suddenly realizing that he was still exposed, his shirt unbuttoned and pulled out of his kilt, his jacket and tie askew, and his sporran God only knew where. He gave Methos a glare as he tugged down his kilt and tried to straighten his attire. Methos reclined in the corner of the seat with a distinctly satisfied look on his face.

"You could at least look for my sporran," Duncan pointed out. "Since you're the one who tossed it, and it has part of your life history on it."

Methos held up the sporran. "Which is why I didn't take my eye off it for a moment."

Duncan couldn't help smiling ruefully at his lover's paranoia, but the memory of the gift softened his ire. He reached out to hook Methos by the back of the neck and brought him close, saying softly, "I didn't get a chance to thank you earlier. I can't imagine a gift that could have meant more to me than your trust. I'm just surprised you'd risk putting it down digitally. Anyone could get their hands on it."

Methos smiled back. "I'm not quite a love-blinded idiot, Mac. It's password-protected."

"And do I get to know the password?"

Methos' smile broadened. "If you don't get it right after three tries, I'll tell you."

Duncan chuckled and leaned his forehead against Methos'. "That's the Methos I know and love. I was beginning to think the wedding had made you soft."

Methos snorted. "Not bloody likely." He brushed his lips over Duncan's then, as the limo slowed down in front of the hotel, pulled back into his corner.

"How do I look?" Duncan asked, fastening the sporran.

"Like you've been making out in the back of a limo," Methos said, eyes glinting. He laughed as Duncan flushed and reached out to brush back a stray lock of hair. "Don't worry; it suits you. You have a kind of glow about you ."

Duncan drew Methos' hand up to his lips and kissed it. "You _are_ getting soft. And I thought _you_ were the one who was supposed to be glowing."

Methos rolled his eyes but refrained from retorting as the limo door opened and the hotel's doorman helped them out. Methos glanced at the elegant façade in front of him - trust Duncan to go for quiet elegance for their wedding night. He watched the bellhop load their luggage on a cart, keeping an especially sharp eye on the cases holding their weapons, while Duncan tipped the limo driver and then Methos followed Duncan and the luggage into the hotel lobby.

He could see the clerk at the desk giving them an appraising eye as they approached and knew that they had been expertly assessed as to the probable size of their bankbooks. The result was apparently favorable because the man gave them a smile that was just the right mixture of professionalism and obsequiousness.

"Mr. MacLeod?" he asked affably, and Methos managed to keep from rolling his eyes. That didn't take rocket science; the kilt was a dead giveaway. "We've been expecting you, sir." To his credit, he didn't smirk or even blink as he confirmed the honeymoon suite, and nothing so gauche as a question of payment even crossed his lips. Pleasantly wishing them both a nice stay, he handed the tastefully bland folder with their computerized room keys to the bellboy.

"My special requests have been handled?" Duncan asked.

"Yes, sir; room service will be up directly."

Duncan thanked the man and followed the bellboy toward the elevators.  Methos murmured, "Special requests? What kind of special requests? Am I going to see more evidence of your kinkiness, Mac?"

Duncan gave him an amused smile. "Is that wishful thinking?"

"More like an attempt to prepare myself for whatever you have up your sleeve."

They entered the elevator and Duncan leaned closer to murmur in Methos' ear, "It's not what I have up my sleeve that you should be concerned about, but what I have up my kilt."

Methos gave him an amused look. "I've seen it, remember? And while it's certainly impressive..."

Duncan snorted and wrapped an arm around him. "Behave."

"And if I don't?" Methos asked provocatively. "What if I want to be naughty?"

"Then I'd have to start the spankings and oral sex."

Methos laughed delightedly. "Mac! A cult movie reference! I'm impressed!"

Duncan gave him a slightly affronted look. "I don't live under a rock, you know!"

Methos' grin widened. "Richie dragged you to see the movie, didn't he?"

"Two years ago," Duncan admitted with a rueful half-grin.

The elevator doors opened on their floor and they followed the bellboy down the hallway, waiting patiently as he unlocked the door. Methos saw a gleam in Duncan's eyes and gave him a wary look. "Try to carry me over the threshold and die. Several times, in exquisite agony."

Duncan grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

The bellboy unloaded their luggage and rattled off his spiel about the room and the amenities available until Duncan tipped him and sent him on his way. Once the door was closed behind him, he took Methos in his arms and kissed him intently, trying to think of a way to get rid of him for a few crucial minutes.

The problem was solved when Methos drew back, giving him a wicked smile. "I'll go change into something more comfortable while you handle your 'special requests'." He grabbed a small bag from his luggage and headed towards the bathroom with a backwards look that made Duncan instantly hard again.

Duncan drew in a deep breath and then hurried to the door at the discreet knock from room service. In a few minutes, flowers and candles had been distributed around the room and champagne set chilling near the bed. He tipped the waiter and then closed and locked the door, with the Do Not Disturb tag on the outside, then pulled his own little bag from his luggage. He pulled out a CD of soft music and inserted it into the suite's stereo system, then stashed lube and a few little surprises on the bedside table.

Duncan was opening the bottle of champagne when Methos came out of the bathroom wearing the hotel robe and an odd look on his face that Duncan might have interpreted as nervousness. Whatever it was, it was gone quickly as Methos looked around him with surprise, a slow grin appearing on his face.

"I appreciate the seduction, but don't you think it's a bit wasted, considering our situation?"

Duncan brought him a glass of champagne. "It's our wedding night and I wanted to do this right." He touched his glass to Methos'. "To us. May this be the first night of many over a very long life."

"To us," Methos echoed, and took a sip from his glass.

The candlelight reflected off the gold band on Methos' finger, and it suddenly hit Duncan with full force that they were actually married. He'd been waiting for this day for so many weeks, no, for all of his life, and now it had actually happened, and he was struck speechless and immobile with terror.

_What have I done_? he thought in panic. _What do I know about being married? Methos has been here before, he'll have expectations... Oh, God! What if I'm a failure at this?_ His libido suddenly seemed to bottom out and he dismally thought he probably couldn't get it up to save his life. _What if he's so disappointed with me that he wants to call it quits?_

"Duncan." Two warm hands cupped his face and abruptly he was back in the here and now, aware that he was hyperventilating. "Breathe, Duncan. Slowly."

Duncan obeyed, feeling a flush of embarrassment warm his face. Methos' face was close to his, concern and understanding in his eyes, which only made Duncan more embarrassed. "Sorry."

Methos smiled gently. "Hit you all of a sudden, did it?"

"It's not that I regret anything," Duncan said quickly, "because I don't. I'd marry you again in a minute."

Methos lay his fingers over Duncan's lips. "Hush. It's all right."

Duncan took Methos' hand. "You don't understand. It's our _wedding_ night, and I - I..."

"Couldn't get it up with a forklift." Methos' mouth twitched with amusement but Duncan knew that it wasn't directed at him and an overwhelming feeling of relief washed over him.

"Yes."

"Why do you think I took so long in the bathroom?"

Duncan blinked. "You were..."

"Petrified." He gave Duncan a wry smile.

Duncan felt weak-kneed with relief and sat down on the bed. "God, I'm so glad." He flushed and hastily added, "Not glad that you were petrified, but that I'm not in this alone."

Methos sat down next to him, taking his hand again. "Look, there's no pressure here. We don't have to do anything tonight except sleep. It's been a pretty exhausting day for both of us and I imagine you didn't sleep too well last night." He leaned over to kiss Duncan, gently and undemanding. "I'm going to go start the Jacuzzi while you finish getting undressed. You can have a nice, long soak and then go straight to bed."

Duncan nodded and, as Methos moved away, started unbuttoning his shirt. "Methos," he said, and his lover - husband - paused in the bathroom doorway and looked back at him questioningly. "I...thanks."

Methos smiled and nodded his head, then disappeared into the bathroom. Duncan knew he had a smile on his own face and quickly stripped off his jacket and shirt, then removed his sporran and kilt. He carefully draped his clothing over the back of a chair, then sat down to strip off his shoes and socks. Naked, he padded into the bathroom and found Methos leaning over the Jacuzzi to adjust the temperature. A frisson of pleasure stirred deep inside him at the sight, not just admiration of the lean body before him but also joy that this wasn't a brief romantic episode. This was forever, something he would see every day for the rest of his life.

Methos looked around and must have caught the look on his face because the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. "It's ready; get in."

Duncan climbed into the oversized tub and sank into the water with a sigh of pleasure.

"Too hot?"

"Just right." He leaned his head back against the side, then lifted it when he felt Methos tug gently at his hair so he could slip a rolled-up towel under his neck. "Thanks."

Duncan lay with his eyes closed for a moment, listening to the comfortable sounds of Methos moving around the bathroom, apparently collecting his own discarded clothing and putting away toiletries. The noises moved into the other room and then returned. The chill of a glass pressed briefly against his cheek made him open his eyes, and he found Methos holding out his refilled champagne glass.

"You didn't drink much of the last one."

Duncan flushed slightly, vaguely recalling the sound of the glass hitting the carpet when he'd gone into his shocked stupor, and took the drink. As Methos turned back towards the doorway, Duncan caught his hand.

"Join me?"

Methos looked oddly reluctant. "I should unpack."

"We're only going to be here one night and I don't think either of us needs clothes at the moment." Duncan tugged gently. "Come on."

"You're supposed to be relaxing."

"I'll relax even more if you're in here, pampering me."

Methos gave him an amused look. "Picture me as a bath slave, do you?"

The familiar bantering made Duncan feel even more comfortable and, surprisingly enough, he felt his cock stir. He let his head drop back against the rolled-up towel, looking up at Methos with a waggle of his eyebrows  "There are lots of ways I've pictured you."

Methos laughed softly. "Well, it's good to have a healthy _fantasy_ life."

"Are you saying my desire to have you soap down my body is doomed to be nothing but a fantasy?"

"You could put it that way."

"Methos," Duncan said in a way he knew his lover found hard to resist. Methos rolled his eyes at him and drew in a deep breath, then unfastened his robe and let it drop. Duncan took one look at what Methos was wearing under the robe and burst out laughing.

Methos gave him a mock-glare. "You know, that kind of reaction could make a man feel insecure."

"If that's why you were petrified to come out of the bathroom, then I'm not surprised," Duncan said, gesturing to the black boxers, trying to smother his laughs. "I thought we both agreed that wasn't your style."

Methos looked down at the underwear liberally decorated with red hearts and smiled ruefully. "And we were both right, but I thought they'd be a nice tension breaker."

"They certainly are," Duncan said, suppressing another snicker. "I suppose you ruled out the virginal white ones on principle."

"I put them in _your_ suitcase," Methos said, shedding the boxers and climbing into the tub. "You're the bride, remember?"

Duncan groaned and dropped his head back against the tub. "And I had Richie put my suitcase in the car. No wonder he was giving me strange looks."

"Think of it as an educational experience for him." Methos settled between Duncan's legs, his own draped over Duncan's thighs, and picked up the soap.

"I don't think he's looking for that kind of education from me," Duncan said dryly. Methos grinned but said nothing as he began soaping up Duncan's chest. Duncan let his eyes slide closed, relaxing under the gentle, sure touches. "You're good at this."

"Chapter 3: my life as a Roman bath boy."

Duncan snorted. "You were never a bath boy in Rome."

Methos shrugged. "As a matter of fact, you're right. But I spent enough time in the baths to pick up a few tips." He rinsed Duncan's chest and then tugged at his hair. "You want me to wash this, too?"

"No; I don't feel like dealing with wet hair tonight." He took the sponge away from Methos. "My turn."

Duncan soaped down Methos' chest, enjoying the feel of his flesh under his fingers. His cock stirred again, beginning to take an interest in proceedings as well. And, as his fingers drifted downward, he discovered that Methos' body was even more interested, and he hadn't had the release Duncan had enjoyed earlier. Determined to rectify that, Duncan wrapped his hand around Methos' cock and began to slowly stroke it.

Methos groaned and leaned back a little, bracing himself on the side of the tub. A little breathlessly, he said, "So you have other fantasies of me?"

Duncan grinned; so Methos wanted him to spin him a fantasy, did he? "Lots of them. One came to mind earlier in the car: me as a Highland Chieftain, you as my pretty English captive." Methos snorted at that, but the sound turned into a groan as Duncan tightened his grip slightly and gave him a few quick strokes before easing up again. "I'd keep you on your knees all the time, sucking off my cock or taking it up the ass."

"And who says that _I'd_ be the captive," Methos panted. "I can picture it much better with you as _my_ captive, the wild Highland barbarian I captured and tamed."

Duncan shuddered at that image as well and felt his own cock thicken and fill. "You'd not find me so easy to tame," he managed to say.

Methos opened his eyes and gave him a smoldering look. "Who says I'd want it easy?" He shifted his position, moving closer on Duncan's lap until their erections brushed against each other. Duncan groaned and adjusted his grip so that he was holding both of their cocks, and Methos' hand joined his.

"So you'd ravish me, would you?" Duncan asked thickly.

Methos shifted his free hand so that he was bracing himself on Duncan's shoulder which allowed him some movement. "Would it be ravishment when you'd want it so badly? And you would. I can see you in front of me, on your hands and knees, wearing nothing but your kilt, your hair hanging loose around your face, begging me to fuck you."

Duncan groaned again but managed to say, "I'd not beg for you or anyone."

Methos chuckled softly and leaned forward to murmur in Duncan's ear, "Oh, I can make you beg and you know it. I'd have you begging me to take you, to fuck you hard and fast. I'd have you fucking yourself on my cock. Can you picture that, Duncan? You on your knees with your kilt flung up on your back, me on my knees behind you, buried to the hilt in your tight, sweet ass. You're rocking back and forth, taking me deep but you're not moving fast enough. I smack your ass, hard, and you come all over the bed, yourself, your kilt." Duncan was shuddering under him, groaning as his climax hit, and Methos could feel his own peaking. "You take me with you. You always take me with you..." He shuddered, spending himself against Duncan's chest, and sagged forward to rest his head on Duncan's shoulder. "So good," he muttered. "Always so damn good."

Duncan chuckled and wrapped his arms around Methos' body, hugging him close. "So who tamed who?" he asked softly.

Methos gave him a sated smile. "I think it's a tie."

"And I think we're going to turn into prunes." Duncan wiped them both down, then pushed Methos up and off him. He grumbled but climbed out of the tub, grabbing towels for them both. Dry, exhausted, and sated for the moment, they headed for the bedroom.

Methos had turned back the covers earlier; he crawled into the bed and pulled them back over him until he was almost invisible. Duncan grinned at the familiar sight as he took a few minutes to put out the candles and the lights before crawling into bed himself.

Methos immediately rolled over, snuggling against him. Duncan contentedly wrapped his arms around Methos' body, rousing his new husband long enough to exchange a goodnight kiss. Methos settled with a contented sigh, his head on Duncan's shoulder, and Duncan felt an unfamiliar warmth flow through his body. More than contentment, more than happiness...he gave up trying to name the unfamiliar emotion and just gave into it. He closed his eyes and, resting his cheek on Methos' hair, let himself drift.


	39. Chapter 39

There was a knock on the door and Joe opened it, scowling at the man outside.

"It's about damn time you got here!"

Julian gave Joe an amused look as he entered the hotel room and shed his jacket. "I had to wait until the happy couple were on their way before I could leave. It wouldn't do to have both of us run off on Methos, would it?  Did you have a chance to sweep their room before they got here?"

Joe nodded, gesturing toward a small pile of electronics on the nightstand. "The guys from Headquarters were good, I'll give them that, but my guys are better."

Julian picked up one of the little transmitters and studied it curiously. "Won't this get you into trouble, Joseph?"

Joe shrugged. "It's not like I haven't been in trouble before, but they won't have any evidence to point to me. My friends will have every thing back in place once Mac and Methos are gone. And they deserve a little privacy. Everyone knows what they're doin' in there; they don't need any goddamn pictures of it!"

Julian grinned as set his suitcase on the other twin bed and pulled out casual clothes. "Maybe they were hoping to get some pointers?"

Joe snorted. "Mac and Methos are my friends and I won't have their wedding night making the rounds of Headquarters like some cheap porno flick." He watched Julian put away the suitcase. "Your guys are in place, I take it?"

Julian nodded. "Ceirdwyn and Remy are across from the elevator so they'll be able to sense anyone coming up that way, and Amanda and Nick are at the end of the hall by the stairs."

"And you really expect those two to pay attention to anything other than each other?"

"We can trust them. Nick's a professional and Amanda's very fond of the guys. Neither would want anything to happen to Methos or MacLeod. And if anyone should get past on either end, I'll be able to sense them before they get too close."

"Sounds like you've got your end covered," Joe said. "I'm armed as well, and I've got eyes and ears on the street below."

"Adam's Watcher friends?"

Joe snorted. "Hell, no! They're nice kids but they're researchers, not field agents. They wouldn't know what to do if they saw a nasty Immortal heading this way."

Julian gave Joe an amused look. "And you would?"

"Of course:  call it in and run like hell."

Julian laughed and picked up the change of clothes. "I'm going to grab a shower and change."

"I'll hold down the fort," Joe said. "Julian?"

Julian paused in the bathroom doorway. "Yes, Joseph?"

"You really think anyone's gonna try for them?" Joe asked curiously.

"Honestly, no. But it's a big temptation for an Immortal not too concerned with playing by the rules. Both of them together, too occupied to notice another Immortal till it's too late, and probably without their swords at hand...I don't like the odds. Better safe than sorry, right?"

Joe nodded and, as Julian disappeared into the bathroom, settled on the second twin bed. He adjusted the receiver in his ear, laughing a little at one of the comments made by the team in the van parked across from the hotel entrance to the team parked at the back, then picked up his book and settled in to read. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

Remy tossed the bouquet on a table, kicked off her high-heeled shoes and sank into a chair, wiggling her toes. "Mon dieu, I hate those things! Thumb screws would be less painful!"

Ceirdwyn gave her former student an amused look as she slipped out of her own low-heeled shoes. "Then why did you wear them?"

"They went with my dress." At the look Ceirdwyn gave her, she snapped, "All right! They make me look taller. Satisfied?"

Ceirdwyn shook her head. "The things you do for fashion's sake, child. Like those horrible corsets you used to wear.  Remember when you were challenged and couldn't move because you were cinched too tight?"

"I got out of it, no?" Remy asked, a trace of her childhood accent coming out.

"And was arrested for being half-naked."

"That was not so bad. The sheriff was a very sweet Cajun boy; reminded me of home." Remy leaned back in her chair. "Those were the days, weren't they?" she asked dreamily. "Seeing Ben again brought it all back to me. I'm glad he found a nice boy to settle down with."

Ceirdwyn laughed. "Duncan MacLeod is not 'a nice boy', Remy. He's one of the best swordsmen I've ever seen.  Some think he's a good candidate to win the Game."

"You're mighty fond of him," Remy said.

Ceirdwyn smiled. "We're old friends."

"So you're going to do what he asked?"

Ceirdwyn shrugged as she unfastened her dress and hung it in the closet. "I don't know. Cassandra and I aren't exactly best friends. She's always been a bit of a loner. I doubt she's going to tell me what she meant by that prophecy, and 'you'll have to make a choice or there'll be a thousand years of chaos' isn't much to go on."

Remy frowned. "A choice between what, though? I get the feeling there's something else going on. MacLeod wasn't telling us everything."

"No reason why he should," Ceirdwyn pointed out, pulling on casual clothes as she gave her student an amused look. "He probably heard from Ben what a big mouth you have."

"I don't!" Remy said indignantly.

"Speaking of being fond of someone, you were acting very friendly with Cory."

Remy grinned. "Cory's fun, and he's got the right idea about life. What's the point of living forever if you can't have fun and excitement?"

"Which means he's trying to talk you into one of his 'plans'." Ceirdwyn shook her head. "Child, you're going to end up in a lot of trouble one of these days."

Remy made a face at her teacher. "You and Marcus seemed to be getting on mighty fine, too, belle-mere. I almost expected you to change your plans  tonight to spend time with him."

Ceirdwyn sighed as she sat down at the vanity to remove her makeup and jewelry. "It was never like that between us. Marcus has had many tragedies in his life recently and needed an old friend to listen to him talk." She glanced over at her student. "Do you want to take the first watch or should I?"

"I will.  I'm too keyed up to sleep. I'll wake you in four hours, yes?"

Ceirdwyn nodded and slipped into bed. Remy darkened the lights and retrieved her sword, then settled down in a chair near the door. Thinking about Cory and his 'plan' brought back pleasant memories and she sat in the dark, smiling and remembering.

 

* * *

 

"Would you put that damned thing away?" Amanda snapped. "Better yet, put it in the trash."

Nick set the lace garter he'd been twirling absently around his finger down on the nightstand and looked over at his beautiful lover, now pacing back and forth in the room like a caged tiger. "Something wrong, Amanda?"

"It's...it's...damn it, my ex-lover's husband was wearing that today, and he threw it right at you. I saw him! Don't you think that's a little strange, not to mention kinky?"

"I wouldn't think you minded kinky."

"There's kinky and there's...well, that's just disturbing."

Nick tilted his head and studied her as she paced. "Does it bother you? That your ex-lover is with another, and that 'other' is a man?"

"No, of course not!" Amanda said indignantly, "but I don't expect you to be wearing Adam's clothes! Especially something like that!"

"Are you sure that's all? You're not even the slightest bit jealous?"

"Me? Jealous of Adam Pierson?"

"Amanda."

She flushed slightly and plopped down on the end of the bed, twisting her fingers together. "It's just...Duncan was always _there_ and - and now he's _not_. And it's not that I don't want to be with you, Nick, it's not like that at all, it's just..."

"Amanda," Nick said, sitting beside her and capturing her hands. "Just because he's in love with someone else doesn't mean he won't be there when you need him. You know that."

"Of course I do, but..." she sighed. "It won't be the same. There's someone who has to come first in his life, and they're talking about a family, and it just won't be the same," she wailed.

"I know, sweetheart," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her head onto his shoulder. "It won't. But that's life."

"Well, life stinks," she said with a sniffle, snuggling against him with a contented sigh.

"And I'm sure you'll find something to make you feel better about life before long." He rubbed her back soothingly.

" _You_ make me feel better," she said, softly, not sure if he'd heard her and not sure if she really wanted him to. Nick said nothing, just continued rubbing her back, and she sighed contentedly. Nick was wonderful and she loved being with him. "So you'll throw that thing away?"

Nick chuckled. "Actually, I was thinking about giving it to you. It would look incredible on one of your beautiful legs."

Amanda laughed and kissed his cheek, then sighed. It was really too bad she had promised Julian to stand watch over Duncan and Methos.  A sweet remark like that really deserved a reward. She promised herself that Nick would get his reward the minute they weren't needed for something else.

 

* * *

 

Alexandra stood on the deck of the barge, looking out over the Seine and admiring the lights of Paris. The sound of footsteps behind her and the feel of a sweater draped over her shoulders made her look up at her husband with a smile.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Very beautiful," Connor said, wrapping his arms around her as they looked over the city.

"It was a wonderful ceremony," Alex said, leaning back against him. "I don't know what Adam gave Duncan but he was almost in tears, wasn't he? It was all so sweet _I_ nearly cried."

Connor laughed softly. "Everything makes you cry. You're a born romantic."

"That's because I'm living a romance," she said, equally soft, and turned her head to smile at him. "I am so very lucky."

Connor kissed her cheek. "Not everyone would say that. I know it hasn't been easy..."

Alex turned in his arms, laying her fingers across his lips. "It doesn't matter. Being with you is more than I ever imagined, and whether it lasts a year or fifty years, I'll be thankful for the time we have together."

He kissed her. "You're in a romantic mood tonight."

She smiled. "Blame it on Paris, or the lights, or weddings if you'd like." She kissed him back. "But I think a better idea would be just to take advantage of this mood."

So he did.

 

* * *

 

Richie drained the last of his beer and signaled with the empty bottle to the bartender. Picking up the new bottle, he swiveled on the stool and looked out over the people dancing on the crowded floor. The club was packed tonight, the band was good, and everyone looked like they were having a good time.

Everyone but him.

And he didn't even know why he was feeling down. It had been a great day, seeing Mac married off and content with his new life. The two of them had looked incredibly good together, and he grinned at the memory of the look on Duncan's face when Methos had dipped him. The Old Guy was surprisingly good for Mac.  He'd relaxed more lately and had seemed happier than he'd been in a long time. Since Tessa, he supposed. Mac had certainly eased up on him and started to treat him less like a kid. Their strained relationship after the events of the past two years had begun to settle into more comfortable levels.

And that was good. Hell, it was _great_. Having grown up the way he had, family had always seemed like a distant dream to him.  All he could do was watch his friends like Maria with their families and wish he had something like that. Being part of Mac and Tessa's family had been a wish-come-true, until it had all been blown to pieces when he'd become Immortal and Tessa had...not. He and Mac had gone through the motions, pretended everything was all right, but it hadn't been. Not till recently.

It was strange to think that he had Methos to thank for this newly rediscovered feeling of being part of a family. The Old Man seemed to be such a loner, though really, when you thought about it, he was always hanging about at Mac's or Joe's. And he could be a pain in the butt sometimes - okay, most of the time - but it was kinda like have an annoying older brother. Richie grinned. He liked that thought and wondered what Methos would think if he told him. Probably toss him overboard.

Connor had been another surprise. The few times he'd seen the older Scot, he'd come across as distant and unapproachable, but being forced together as members of Duncan's wedding party, he'd come to know Connor a little better. The elder MacLeod was certainly different from his own teacher, but once you got accustomed to his dry wit and that funny laugh he was quite good company. Richie grinned. Especially when drink was involved. Connor's stories when he was drunk rivaled even Methos'.

Richie realized that his depressed mood had lifted and grinned as he shook his head. Feeling sorry for himself for being alone tonight, he hadn't even realized that he wasn't really alone. He had family, the best kind, and that would do just fine until he was ready to find someone to settle down with. Say, in a couple hundred years or so. For right now, he was having a good time looking around.

With that in mind, Richie set his bottle down on the bar and headed towards the dance floor. Time to see how his luck with the ladies was faring tonight.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra looked out the window and watched as the lights of Paris dwindled below her. For the first time in months, ever since she had found out that the Horsemen still lived, she felt at ease in her soul. It was over, finally. It was in the past and could never touch her, not any more. She could go back home and take up the threads of her life and wait.

 

* * *

 

Joe was startled from a light doze by a crackle in his ear, something different from the comments that had been passing back and forth between the Watcher teams for the past few hours. He listened intently, then pressed the button on his headset twice to acknowledge he'd received the information.

"Heads up," he called over to Julian, stretched out on the other bed. "It looks like you were right. We've got company: two of them."

"You don't know how much I wanted to be wrong." Julian picked up the phone. "Entry?"

"The back.  Going for the stairs, most likely. I'm waiting for an ID."

Julian rang Amanda's room. "Two Immortals heading up your way."

"Got a positive ID," Joe said. "One is Ruddy Waterman, mercenary. No ID on the other but most likely it's his student, Peter Kinsey. Not much on him, but the two of them are Hunters and they're not picky about starting a fight."

Julian relayed the information, then hung up and dialed Ceirdwyn's room. "We'd better have everyone ready, then. Waterman's not going to just walk away in front of his student, not unless he doesn't have a choice."

 

* * *

 

Remy was awakened by the ringing of the phone and the sound of Ceirdwyn's voice. She sat up, swearing under her breath as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.  An hour just didn't cut it. And, from the look on her teacher's face, trouble was heading their way.

She swung her feet over the side of the bed, envying Ceirdwyn's ability to look so refreshed after little of sleep. "Trouble, yes?"

"Double trouble. Julian says they were seen heading towards the back stairs but all of us need to be on alert." Ceirdwyn looked over at Remy, verifying that she was ready, and opened the door enough to peer into the hallway.

It looked empty although she could hear another door opening; that would either be Julian or Amanda but she had no time to check. The elevator just down from her room pinged just as she was hit by a strong Immortal Presence.

She stepped into the hallway as two men exited the elevator and halted. She smiled.

"Something I can do for you gentlemen?"

"You're not the one we want, " began one of the men but the other held up his hand, cutting him off. Her eyes narrowed. Now she knew which was the teacher and which the student.

"We're just looking for our room," the older Immortal said, smiling and holding up his hands. "We don't want any trouble."

"How curious;  my party has all the rooms along this hall," Ceirdwyn said. "Of course, I _could_ be mistaken. If you show me your key, I'm sure we can clear up this... misunderstanding."

The man's face darkened. "This is none of your business."

"I'm _making_ it my business."

The younger Immortal snorted. "You think you're going to stop us? You?"

"And I," Remy said, moving into place at her teacher's side.

"Oh, that's so much better," he sneered.

Once again, his teacher held up his hand. "Don't underestimate them because they're women, Peter. Some of the toughest fighters I've ever run up against have been women."

Remy inclined her head in amusement. " _Merci d'compliment_."

The younger Immortal glared. "You think I should be afraid of _her_?"

Remy gave the older Immortal a sympathetic look. "This one is _fout-pas-mal, oui_? Rushes in where angels don't go?"

"Remy," Ceirdwyn said sharply, not wanting her irascible student to start something. "We don't want a confrontation here, do we?" she asked Waterman. "So bad for the hotel's reputation, not to mention your health."

"And if I don't want to leave without what I've come for?"

"Then we'll have to convince you otherwise," came another voice. Kinsey jerked around, startled, and stared down the hallway where Amanda and Nick stood outside their door, armed and ready to move. Waterman was less obviously surprised but it was clear he hadn't expected this. As he weighed up the four opponents, another pair entered the hallway: one an Immortal, the other obviously a mortal but armed with a gun pointed in their direction.

Waterman acknowledged that the odds were stacked against them. He inclined his head in a mocking salute, then turned to Ceirdwyn and Remy.

"My mistake," he said genially. "I have obviously stepped off on the wrong floor, so I shall bid you good-night and be on my way."

"Sounds like an excellent idea," Ceirdwyn said, smiling and gesturing towards the elevator with her sword. "Good night."

Waterman stepped into the elevator, his sulking student behind him. "You may tell MacLeod that there will be another time, when he is not so well-guarded."

"I wouldn't count on it," Remy retorted but Ceirdwyn said nothing, merely watching until the elevator closed and the indicator lights continued steadily to the first floor. Then she looked down the hallway towards Julian.

"Do you think they'll be back?"

Julian shook his head. "Not tonight.  They know we're watching for them. We'll let MacLeod know tomorrow, warn him to take precautions."

"Damn," Joe muttering, pocketing his gun again. "My guys say they're leaving the hotel, but that was too close. It's time to get the old man onto Holy Ground."

"The sooner the better," Julian agreed. He nodded his thanks to the other two pairs and waited till they were back in their rooms, remaining there for a few minutes longer.

The door to the honeymoon suite opened slightly and a familiar face peered cautiously out, blinking as he recognized Julian. Julian couldn't help smiling at the sight of Methos wearing only a pair of dress pants with braces hanging loose and holding a sword.

"Julian?" Methos whispered, irritated. "What in the hell..." Comprehension dawned as he took in the other Immortal's casual attire and naked sword. "Patrolling the hallways and warning off intruders? Taking after the ancestors a bit too much, aren't you?"

"Ah, well, anything for my teacher."

 "Well, keep it down, all right? Feeling your buzz right outside our door nearly scared me to death."

"I expected MacLeod to be the one to rush to the defense."

"He's a bit exhausted at the moment - and you can just go wash out your dirty mind." Methos turned back into his room and then paused just before shutting the door. "Thanks. Say good-night to Joe for me, will you?"

Julian laughed softly, shaking his head as he went back into his room. Sometimes he wondered why he even tried to hide anything from his old teacher.

 

* * *

 

Muttering to himself about impossible youths, Methos set his sword back down on the floor by his side of the bed, striped off his pants, and climbed into bed. Duncan was still asleep but roused enough to turn over and wrap his arms around Methos, muttering something like "gold beet" before falling asleep again. Methos smiled indulgently and kissed Duncan's forehead, then closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon images - no, not those kinds of images (the Watchers wouldn't give me their film) but here's a look at their destinations. La Maison Douce is a real place but I have no knowledge of whether they are gay-friendly or not, and Madame Martine is my own creation. For more information about the Ile de Re, check out the [Highlander Honeymoon Scrapbook, Pg 1 at Chapter 4 of the Gallery.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9738657)

Methos was awakened in the middle of the night by a large, warm hand rubbing his stomach and warm lips kissing the back of his neck. He sighed.

"Something you want, MacLeod?"

"You." The kisses moved to below his ear. "I want you."

"If memory serves me, over the past few months you've had me. Several times, in fact."

Kisses became nibbles. "Want you now."

"So I noticed." The teasing hand moved up, now toying with his nipples. "Maaaac. I'm trying to _sleep_."

"Insomnia?" Duncan breathed into his ear. "I've got a great cure for that."

Methos rolled over on his back and narrowed his eyes. "So have I. It's called closing my eyes and going to sleep."

"My way is more fun."

"I see you've recovered from earlier," Methos said dryly.

Duncan leaned over and kissed his neck. "You can't fool me. You want it."

"You're delusional. I want sleep." Methos groaned as Duncan found a particularly sensitive spot and sucked on it. "What will it take for you to let me go back to sleep?"

Duncan rolled on top and grinned down at him. "Well, I suppose if you were to wrap your legs around my hips and scream my name a couple times in ecstasy, I could be persuaded to let you go back to sleep afterward."

"Don't think much of yourself, do you?"

"Nope." Duncan latched onto a nipple with his mouth, teasing it while Methos tried hard not to buck under him.

"Bastard," he gasped.

"You're still coherent. I must be doing something wrong." Duncan's mouth moved down Methos' belly, trailing bites and kisses in equal measure. Methos moaned in frustration as Duncan skirted his erection and Duncan grinned.

"That's better."

Methos growled and reached down to tug Duncan up into his arms. "You're a damned tease, Duncan MacLeod." He kissed Duncan intently, rolling them so that he was on top, and then proceeded to dish out the same torment in return. Duncan gasped and clutched at the covers to keep from thrashing about as Methos worked his way around Duncan's body like he owned it. And right now, Duncan was more than willing to cede possession to Methos if he'd just keep going like that.

"Turn over," Methos ordered and Duncan obeyed with alacrity, grabbing the lubricant off the nightstand and thrusting it back toward Methos. The older Immortal laughed softly as he took it and set it aside. "Eager slut, aren't you? I have something else in mind first."

"O God!" was all Duncan had time to gasp out before Methos tilted his ass up to just the right angle before diving in to lathe him with his tongue. Duncan grabbed a pillow and balled it up, burying his face in it as he shuddered under the pleasurable assault.

Duncan had had many talented lovers over the centuries, both male and female, and rimming hadn't been a new pleasure to him. But there was something about the way Methos did this particular act that made all past experiences pale by comparison. It was the way Methos focused his attention so completely, making it more than just a prelude to intercourse. In fact, Duncan knew Methos was quite capable of getting them both off like this,- but that wasn't what he wanted this time.

His groping hand found the lube and once again he thrust it at Methos. This time Methos accepted it with a soft laugh and, after a moment, Duncan felt the slick warmth of his lover sliding into him. He relaxed his body to accept his lover, spreading his legs wider to take Methos in deeper. Then Methos was fully sheathed inside him, his body draped over Duncan's back as he nuzzled his neck.

"Hard and fast, or slow and easy?" he murmured in Duncan's ear. Duncan shivered at the dark, sexy tone of that beloved voice but couldn't answer. There was another soft laugh and the warmth lifted off his back. Before Duncan could protest, Methos had pulled him up so that Duncan was sitting on Methos' cock, his back against Methos' chest. Duncan groaned as he felt his lover push deeper inside him.

"Grab the headboard," Methos breathed in his ear. "Fuck yourself on me; show me how you want it."

Duncan groaned again and grabbed for the headboard as Methos adjusted their positions so that Duncan could hold onto it and still remain nearly upright on his lap. Duncan slowly pushed himself up and down on the thick cock filling him, reveling in the sensation. He alternated several long, slow glides with a few short, quick thrusts, enjoying the slow build-up of sensation throughout his body.

Methos wasn't idle or passive; his hands glided over Duncan's skin, pinching and caressing, while his lips and tongue feasted on Duncan's back. When his hand finally closed over Duncan's cock, Duncan groaned and his head dropped back onto Methos' shoulder as he lost the rhythm of his thrusting.

"Dammit, fuck me," he gasped.

With a growl, Methos pushed Duncan forward and Duncan's hands scrabbled against the wall to keep from being slammed into it as Methos thrust into him, hard. The bed rocked but Duncan only pushed back, reveling in the vigorous thrusting. At this pace, it wasn't long before they were both shuddering through orgasm, Duncan crying out hoarsely before slumping down sideways on the bed with Methos still wrapped tightly around him.

"Can I go to sleep now?"

The plaintive tone in Methos' voice combined with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure running through his body completely undid Duncan, and he collapsed into helpless laughter, not even stopping when Methos pounded him with his pillow.

He did point out to Methos - between gasps of laughter - that it was Methos' fault the bed was now completely torn apart, although that was hardly reason for Methos to shove him onto the floor. He lay there, trying to catch his breath, which was even more difficult as Methos was stomping around the bed as he straightened it, muttering imprecations about youngsters who disturbed the well-deserved rest of their elders. The shaking of the mattress indicated that the bed had achieved a satisfactory state of repair and then Methos' face appeared over the side.

"Are you coming to bed or not? My feet are cold."

Duncan grinned and placidly folded his hands across his chest, as if perfectly content to continuing lying on the floor. "Your feet are always cold, you bad-tempered old man, so why should I come up there and warm them for you?"

Methos' eyes crinkled at the corners. "Because you like bad-tempered old men?"

"Not true.  I love just one particular bad-tempered old man."

"Anyone I know?"

"Trolling for flattery?"

Methos' grin widened. "Every chance I get." He held out his hand to help Duncan up from the floor and under the covers, wrapping himself around Duncan with a contented sigh, and promptly fell back asleep.

 

* * *

 

Methos was awakened next by the smell of food and by an irritatingly cheerful voice.

"Morning, Methos! Time to get up - it's a beautiful day."

"That's debatable," he grumbled, snuggling deeper into his pillow.

"Would you like your breakfast in bed?"

"I'd like it in about two hours. After I've had a chance to _sleep_."

"We've got croissants, omelets, fruit...'

Methos rolled over on his back and pulled the covers over his head. "That's it! When I _do_ get up, I'm finding Father Liam and having the marriage annulled. What was I _thinking,_ marrying a morning person?"

Duncan didn't seem worried by the threat as he stripped off the covers. "You don't have time. We've got a train to catch in two hours."

Methos sat up. "A train?" he asked, surprised, then his eyes narrowed. "All right, MacLeod, where are you taking me?"

Duncan grinned and leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "Paradise."

Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about last night, Mac."

"Neither am I." Duncan went back to the breakfast cart and poured a cup of decaffeinated coffee, fixing it the way Methos liked it. Methos accepted the cup, absently taking a sip.

"Paradise," Methos repeated. "I thought Julian said we couldn't go too far away."

"We're not," Duncan replied, filling a plate and bringing it over to the bed. He set it on the nightstand and plumped up some pillows behind Methos, then handed him the plate. "We're not leaving France, as a matter of fact."

"Which hardly qualifies as Paradise. Too cold, too wet..." Methos leaned back against the pillows and picked at the food on the plate. It was good but there was something about Duncan's attitude that made him wary. "Except for the Riviera, which is much too crowded and touristy."

Duncan sat on the bed by his feet, giving him a warm look that made Methos want to drag him back into bed. "It's not the Riviera, but I promise to keep you dry and warm."

"I can think of a great way to start."

"No time for that," Duncan said briskly, getting up again to fetch his own breakfast. "You need to shower and dress, and if we're going to make our train, we need to leave in an hour. Connor's coming to take us to Montparnasse."

Methos frowned over that bit of information and absently finished his breakfast, trying to put the pieces together. He refrained from asking Duncan anything else - he was looking too pleased with himself as it was. Setting aside his plate, he wandered into the bathroom, showered and shaved, then returned to the bedroom to find that Duncan had finished dressing and was carefully packing the kilt and its paraphernalia into a garment bag.

"You're taking that with us?"

Duncan gave him an amused look. "Much as I'd like to feed your fantasies, I'm getting it ready for Connor to take to the cleaners. I've got your tux as well, if that's all right."

Methos nodded acceptance as he set his suitcase on the bed and opened it. He knew that Duncan was longing for him to ask for more details, even what he should wear, and decided to tease the other man by not giving in. Surreptitiously, he studied Duncan's clothing and chose a pair of casual, good-looking pants and one of his favorite light sweaters. He had just finished dressing and was putting on his shoes when Connor called them from the lobby.

"Ready?" Duncan asked, picking up his suitcase and the garment bag, and Methos nodded as he grabbed his own suitcase. He preceded Duncan into the hallway, pausing as he noticed Duncan didn't immediately follow him. Methos turned back, giving Duncan a questioning look as he saw him take a final look around.

"Mac? Lose something?"

Duncan smiled. "Just sentimental."

Methos rolled his eyes at that but, as Duncan joined him in the hallway, he took Duncan's left hand in his and rubbed the gold band in understanding. Duncan smiled and squeezed his hand in return, then they picked up their suitcases and headed towards the elevator.

As they stood waiting, the door across from the elevator opened, and Ceirdwyn and Remy emerged, obviously dressed for going out. Methos' eyes narrowed.

"Well, isn't this a coincidence. Julian and Joe across the hall from us, you two down here in front of the elevator, and I expect someone else was across from the stairs - Richie or Amanda?" The elevator arrived and the four Immortals got on it.

Duncan looked with surprise at Methos. "Julian was across from us? And you knew?"

"I ran into him prowling the hallway in the middle of the night." He fixed the women with a look. "We don't need guards, you know. We can look after ourselves."

"Well, it's a damned good thing we were here," Remy retorted, stopped from saying any more by a touch from Ceirdwyn.

Duncan's eyes widened with surprise. "You mean someone came after us last night?"

"Two of them," Remy said with relish, "but they didn't hang around once they realized you two weren't defenseless."

"We aren't defenseless in any case," Methos pointed out.

Remy smirked. "I'm sure at the time you weren't in any fit state to entertain company."

"Remy," Ceirdwyn said sternly and she subsided with a scowl.

The elevator doors opened and, as they exited, Duncan saw Julian and Joe in a serious discussion with Connor. Determinedly, he crossed to them.

"All right, Joe. Who were they?"

Joe gave Remy and Ceirdwyn an exasperated look, before looking back at Duncan. "It doesn't matter. They were just a couple of opportunists. I have it on good authority they took a flight to Italy a few hours ago."

"They came after us and I want to know who they are," Duncan said stubbornly.

"Let it go, MacLeod." Everyone turned to look at Methos, surprised by the steel in his voice. "They're gone so just Let. It. Go."

Duncan's eyes locked on Methos' for a long moment and then, with a sigh, he  nodded.

"Right," Connor said, breaking the silence. "You've got a train to catch so we'd better get going."

Duncan nodded and turned to Joe. "I appreciate what you guys did."

"Don't worry about it," Joe said. "I would have done the same for any other really old friends of mine who just happened to get hitched." Duncan laughed and hugged him, then turned to say good-bye to the others.

"Take good care of him," Julian said pointedly, and Duncan nodded.

Methos hugged Remy good-bye, bid a more reserved farewell to Ceirdwyn, and then turned to Joe. "Thanks for everything, Joe," he said, clasping the Watcher's shoulder tightly. "I couldn't have gotten through it without you."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have missed it for anything," Joe said gruffly, then surprised both of them by hugging Methos tightly. "You take care of yourself, have a good time, and come back safely, you hear me?" Methos nodded and Joe released him, clearing his throat. "We'll keep an eye on things while you're gone."

Duncan nodded his thanks, collected their luggage, and they were off.

* * *

 

An hour later, settled comfortably in a private first class compartment on the TGV-Atlantique and speeding southwest across France, Methos  gave Duncan a Look.

"All right, MacLeod. Give."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"La Rochelle is a nice enough place, but Paradise?"

Duncan gave him an innocent look. "It's a very nice city. An aquarium, a natural preserve, lots of museums.  We could probably scrape up a library or bookstore for you."  He paused.  "But we're not staying in La Rochelle."

Methos narrowed his eyes. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Duncan's grin widened. "Think of it as payback for earlier."

"Was it my fault you fell out of bed?"

"Fell? I was _pushed_!"

"Poor man," Methos said silkily and the tone in his voice made Duncan shiver. "Should I kiss it and make it all better?" He moved to the seat next to Duncan, picking up his hand and nipping at his fingers.

"Methos!" Duncan hissed, feeling himself flush. "We're in _public_!"

 "I thought that was one of your kinks."

"Not when there's a good possibility of being caught and thrown off the train!"

"Oh, well," Methos said philosophically, and closed his eyes, settling comfortably on the seat. "In that case, I'm going to take a nap. Someone disturbed my sleep."

Before Duncan's amused eyes, Methos proceeded to do just that. Duncan watched him for a long moment then thought he must be uncomfortable with his head straight back like that. He eased an arm around Methos, tilting him carefully so his head lay on Duncan's shoulder.  Methos made a slight noise and burrowed in closer, and Duncan knew he was grinning stupidly as he looked out the window and watched the countryside speed by.

Methos deliberately kept his body relaxed within Duncan's arms, stifling his disappointment. He hadn't been to the western coast in a long time but he knew full well about its reputation to rival the Riviera for glittering sophistication with  splashy new resorts. Much as he loved to be pampered in a fine hotel, the idea of being subjected to faux-elegance in a shoebox-sized room while cheek-to-jowl with thousands of strangers held little appeal. But since Duncan had gone to a lot of trouble, he would paste on a smile and do his best to enjoy this vacation.

 

* * *

 

"Welcome to La Maison Douce!"

The proprietress of said establishment beamed at them and Duncan automatically smiled back. "Thank you. We're looking forward to our stay here."

The place was everything his travel agent had said and more.  Cozy and charming sitting rooms opened off the foyer, an opulent garden beckoned through the open doorway ahead, and the matronly owner was smiling at them like they were long-lost kin. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Methos.  The other man had been struck silent ever since they'd turned away from the tourist hotels and onto the bridge to the Ile de Re. As the taxi had wound through the streets of quaint little St. Martin, he had seen Methos' earlier barely-concealed dismay melting away, and now he was looking around at his surroundings in delight.  As they followed Madame Martine out onto the terrace, he saw Methos tilt his face up to the sun and visibly expand, like a plant in the sunlight, and smiled smugly.  _Oh yes,_ he thought  as he watched Methos, _this was perfect_. 

A throat softly clearing nearby recalled Duncan to his surroundings, and he flushed as he turned back to the owner. "A thousand pardons, Madame," he said, realizing he hadn't heard a word she'd just said.

An understanding smile warmed her face. "No apologies needed; he is very nice to look at, oui?" Duncan flushed more, ignoring Methos' soft laugh. "And you are just married, yes?"

"Yes," Duncan admitted a little uncertainly, not sure just how "gay friendly" this place really was.

"Bon! My brother, Jean, has been married to Philippe for two years. Congratulations!" She folded Duncan into a warm embrace, kissing both his cheeks, then advanced on Methos, much to his alarm, and did the same.

She seemed to have developed an immediate fondness for Methos because she latched onto his arm as she led them across the terrace, leaving Duncan to follow with their suitcases.

"As I was saying, we are a small, friendly place.  Besides yourselves, we have a family and two couple staying in the main wing.  Breakfast and afternoon tea are served here on the main terrace unless the weather is bad, which it rarely is at this time of year. And here are your rooms, off the side wing," she said as she led them through a small gate and into a smaller garden.  "It is farther from the main house but very private." She gave them a conspiratorial look as she unlocked the door that made Duncan blush. "This I save for our honeymooners.

Duncan glanced around, taking in the room with its simple, light-colored décor and blessed his travel agent again. This was perfect.

Madame Martine was finishing the tour, displaying the contents of the wardrobe to Methos.  "There are extra blankets and pillows as well, and if you need more towels just ask any of the staff or leave a message at the desk." She beamed at the two of them again as she pressed the key into Duncan's hand. "I hope you will be very happy here with us."

"I'm sure we will be," Duncan replied, blushing as she winked at him before bustling off. He closed the door and turned to lean against it, watching Methos fall backwards onto the bed.

"God, Mac! How did you find this place?"

"My travel agent recommended it when I said I was looking for some place small, not too touristy, and gay-friendly."

Methos burst out laughing at that. "Any friendlier and she'd have tucked us into bed and told us where to find the lubricant." He rolled onto one elbow and glanced at the two night tables. "Nope; good thing we brought our own."

Duncan flipped the door lock behind him and slowly crossed to the bed. "Yes, isn't it?"

Methos rolled onto his back again, arms behind his head, looking very much at home. "Paradise, Mac?"

Duncan shrugged. "That's what they say in the brochures. I'm afraid it's too late in the day to really soak those old bones of yours in the sun, but I've hired bicycles for our stay so we could go for a ride." He managed not to grin at the withering look Methos gave him. "And there are several nice restaurants within walking distance, when we get hungry."

Methos gave Duncan an amused look. "Whatever shall we do until it's time to eat?"

"I can think of a few things," Duncan said, and pounced.

 

* * *

 

Lying drowsily in Duncan's arms, Methos traced his fingers through the thick hair on his chest and murmured, "This was a great idea."

Duncan grinned as he caressed Methos' still-sweaty back. "It was, wasn't it?"

Methos smacked Duncan's chest lightly. "I meant the island, you conceited oaf."

"You really like it?" Duncan asked, relieved. "I was at a bit of a loss.  With so many previous marriages, you've probably been everywhere and done everything."

Methos tilted his head up and gave Duncan an amused look. "Mac, most of the times I got married, no one had even _heard_ of a 'honeymoon'. We were lucky if we had a private bed in the corner of her parents' house, much less a place of our own. And I can honestly say no one has ever taken me on a honeymoon."

"Really?" Duncan asked, pleased.

"Really," Methos affirmed. Duncan kissed him and he responded with enthusiasm. "So, what exactly have you got planned for us, or is it still a dark secret?"

"Five days here, and I thought we'd just take it easy and relax," Duncan said. "Then we'll rent a car in La Rochelle and drive back to Paris in easy stages. I planned on stopping in Poitiers for a few days - "

Methos nearly bolted upright in the bed. "Can we go to Futuroscope?"

Duncan gave him an amused look. "You want to go to an amusement park?"

"It's not _just_ an amusement park, Mac!"

"I suppose so, if you want to," Duncan said, drawing Methos down into his arms. "Although I had more romantic venues in mind."

Methos grinned at that. "Ruined chateaux, moonlit gardens, that sort of thing?"

"Mmm," Duncan said. "Do I detect a note of cynicism on your part?"

"Absolutely not," Methos said, a serious look on his face although his eyes danced. "Whatever you want, daaahling."

Duncan rolled and pinned him for the second time that afternoon. "What I want I can't have right now, not if we plan on eating tonight."

"And we need a wash," Methos agreed, casting a glance over at the footed bathtub. "Do you think that'll hold the both of us?"

Duncan gave him an amused smile. "As I recall, those things are large enough for two, even under the most athletic of circumstances."

"Braggart," Methos said, smacking him on the chest. He climbed out of bed, stretched his back, then padded over to turn on the taps as Duncan lay back, admiring the view.

"Where after Poitiers?" Methos asked, testing the water.

"Hmm? Oh, the Loire Valley: Touraine, Amboise, Chinon. Take about five or six days to putter about, then catch the train back to Paris in time for your ultrasound appointment with Julian."

Methos made a face. "He better not try to put that thing up my ass again. If he wants an ultrasound, he'll have to do it the usual way."

Remembering the reason for the ultrasound made Duncan's heart beat faster; in just a few weeks, they'd know the sex of their children. Duncan studied Methos critically, noticing a hint of rounding at his abdomen. Not that it was obvious; Methos had put on a little bit of weight all over which made him look less gaunt. Duncan frankly liked the new look.

Methos turned and caught Duncan looking, and his mouth curved up in a smile. "Are you watching me?"

"Yes," Duncan admitted. "Do you mind?"

"I suppose not. You might as well look your fill now, while there's something worth staring at." He climbed into the tub.

Duncan frowned at the self-deprecating tone in Methos' voice. Although he would have sworn the man had a healthy self-esteem, there were times when he seemed strangely unsure. Like when he'd fallen for Alexa Bond. And now. Duncan got out of bed and convinced Methos to move forward so he could slip in behind him in the tub. With his arms wrapped loosely around Methos' body, he leaned his chin on his shoulder.

"Methos?"

"Hmmm?" The other man sounded drowsy but this was important.

"I'll always like looking at you. You know that, don't you?"

"Even when I look like Moby Dick?"

Duncan chuckled softly. "Even then."

"You're certifiable, did you know that?"

"Yes. And I love you."

"I rest my case," Methos said, with all the flourish of a lawyer presenting his summation to the jury. But he linked his fingers with Duncan's as he lay back against Duncan's chest and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

"What do you feel like eating?" Duncan asked, buttoning his silk shirt and tucking it in his pants. There was no answer so he walked over to the open doorway to the terrace and glanced out. Methos, already shaved and dressed, was sprawled in a chair and absorbed in the local guidebook. Duncan repeated his question and Methos flipped through the pages.

"For an island this small, it certainly has a lot of pizzerias."

Duncan made a face. "Not pizza, not for our first night here."

"Are you sure? There's something about a place called Pinocchio's..." Methos laughed at the look on Duncan's face. "Well, how about something more traditional? They recommend  La Baleine Bleue. - 'the blue whale'." He grinned at Duncan.  "I hope that's not what's on the menu. We could call and see if they have openings for tonight, then stroll down to the port."

"Sounds good. Even if they're full, there are bound to be other places along there, and after dinner we can walk through town."

After making their reservation, they ambled along the narrow winding streets lined by white walled buildings covered with fragrant cascading flowers. Since it was still a few weeks before the summer holiday season began, the pedestrian traffic was light and they took their time walking the short distance to the harbor.

Their table was ready when they arrived and they were soon seated on the terrace overlooking the harbor. The light cuisine served by the restaurant was indeed excellent and the wine, produced from a local vineyard, superb, but best of all, Methos was in one of his finest moods, his conversation amusing and witty but without the sharp edge it could sometimes have. Duncan wondered if this was Methos in relaxed "vacation" mode or a side effect of his condition, but at the moment he decided to enjoy it and not question too much.

Methos looked up from his dessert of fresh raspberries and Chantilly to find Duncan's eyes on him again. He flushed and murmured, "Mac, you've got to stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you'd rather be eating _me_ for dessert."

Duncan's lips twitched. "But I would."

Methos' flush deepened and he hissed, "This isn't Paris.  You can't do that kind of thing."

"I thought I did, just a few hours ago."

"Mac!"

Duncan laughed and reached out to touch Methos' hand briefly. "Relax. I'm not going to throw you down on the table and have at it." Methos rolled his eyes. "I know you're naturally paranoid, but you can relax. This is a resort area and they're accustomed to all sorts of strange behavior from tourists. There's even a gay beach just south of La Rochelle. We'll be fine as long as we act with some discretion."

"Well _that_ makes me feel better!" Methos retorted, but Duncan just grinned and signaled for the bill.

Dusk was just falling as they strolled back into the street and across the bridge to the main harbor. With silent agreement, they turned to walk along the waterfront. The walkway circling the harbor was even quieter now than it had been when they arrived, only a few tourists strolling as they were. Along the road behind them, the brightly colored buildings caught the last of the sunlight as shop-owners bustled about, closing up their businesses for the night.

 Behind them, the docks were silent as the fishermen had long since gone home to their families and the pleasure-boat owners to their evening diversions. Duncan studied the sailboats in the harbor with a pang of envy.  He loved sailing and it would have been fun to take out a boat while they were here, but Methos would probably give up his head first.

As they circled the harbor, the view changed from the sight of the main harbor to a view of the open channel between the island and the coast of France in the distance. Duncan stopped and leaned his elbows on the railing, looking out over the water. It was already dark in that direction, the setting sun behind him now, and he could pick out a few lights bobbing on the water. Night fishermen, perhaps, or private yachts on their way down the coast.

Duncan turned to look at Methos and found that he was also looking out over the water, but not at the ships nearby. His eyes were fixed on the distant horizon, as if looking through the dark for the distant mainland, and there was a stillness about his face that made Duncan suddenly wonder if this had been a good idea. Did Methos feel trapped on this island? Granted, it was highly unlikely that another Immortal would turn up here, and Methos wouldn't have to face anyone alone, but it could be awkward getting away in a hurry. Or was something else bothering him? Had Methos been here in the past,  memories associated with this place?

"Remembering the last time you were here?" he asked quietly, and Methos gave him a startled look followed by a smile.

"Actually, I never made it out to the island," Methos said. "No bridge and you might have noticed I'm not overly fond of water-travel. I did purchase quite a bit of salt from the locals. Ile de Re salt was considered some of the finest."

Duncan turned to rest his back against the railing as he studied Methos' face. "You were thinking about more than salt. Bad memories?"

Methos shrugged. "Not particularly. I was here during La Rochelle's independent years but had enough sense to get out before the siege. France wasn't a healthy place to be then."

Duncan's lips twitched. "But fun."

"Only for a lunatic like you." Methos turned to look back over the water, leaning his elbows on the railing. "Actually, I was thinking about what you said earlier."

Duncan blinked. "About what?"

"Us. Discretion and all that." Methos' eyes became unfocused. "I've seen so many things change over the millennia. I've seen it become fashionable to have a male lover and times when even thinking about it was suicidal. Just when I've thought the pendulum had swung over permanently in one direction or another, it would swing back the other way."

Duncan tilted his head. "I suppose that if we live long enough, we'll see it swing the other way, but we'll survive."

Methos shook his head impatiently. "It's not that, it's...would you and Tessa have had to behave circumspectly if you'd come here?"

"Well, I still couldn't have thrown her down on the table and - "

"Mac, we both know you meant we should monitor our displays of affection," Methos said impatiently. "Not that I've ever been fond of couples hanging all over each other and snogging in public, but still..."

"It would be nice to have the option," Duncan finished, nodding. He turned and faced Methos. "And who's to say that we don't? It starts with one person at a time, Methos. And I refuse to let anyone make me feel ashamed of loving you." He leaned in and gently kissed Methos. "What do you say to that? Care to do a little public snogging with me - purely in the interest of furthering society's enlightenment?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Methos responded to his kiss for a moment, then drew back. "I'm much more in favor of private snogging and my own enlightenment."

"Something you're in the dark about?"

"Yes: what, exactly, you're hiding in the pockets of your carry-on bag."

Duncan grinned. "I'll just say that the Watchers are with us in spirit, if not in person."

"Oh, God." Methos dropped his forehead to rest on Duncan's shoulder. "Just be sure you dispose of the packaging properly. I'd never be able to face Madame Martine if she caught sight of those things."

Duncan laughed as he took Methos' hand and led him back towards the maison.

 

* * *

 

Duncan unlocked the garden gate and let himself into the enclosure, picking up the towel he'd left there before going off on his morning run. The main terrace was mostly empty; the older English couple staying at the maison was sitting at one of the tables, the man immersed in his paper while his wife chatted with Madame Martine. Duncan waved an acknowledgement to her greeting as he headed towards their room.  

He found the man in question was already up, lounging in a sunny spot on their private terrace, his nose buried in a book. He obviously hadn't been up too long as his hair was still standing on end and he was wearing Duncan's robe again. Duncan smiled, remembering...

_The first morning coming out of the bath to find Methos stretched out in a lounge chair, wrapped in a robe that looked very familiar, absorbed in his book._

_"Isn't that my robe?"_

_Methos' eyes appeared over the top of the book, glinting with humor. "Well, since you endowed me with all your worldly goods..."_

_"I can see I'm going to regret that."_

_"And I couldn't sit around here in my boxers, now could I?"_

_"Well, if I get a vote..."_

 

Duncan leaned over to kiss Methos good-morning. "I saw Madame on my way in so I expect breakfast will arrive shortly. I'm going to wash up and then figure out what to wear."

"Well, if _I_ get a vote..." Methos said, grinning as he set the book down on his lap to get a better look at his spouse. He loved the way Duncan looked after a morning run: his skin glowing, his sweat-streaked hair escaping from the tie-back, his damp clothes clinging to his body. "Have a good run?"

"A very good one, thanks. I ran out past the fortifications and the beach we went to yesterday, along the road to La Flotta and back."

Methos nodded and disappeared back into his book, and Duncan went into the room to bathe and shave. When he returned to the terrace a short time later, he found that breakfast had appeared and helped himself to coffee. Methos, he noted, had abandoned his book in favor of food although the guide on the Ile de Re was also lying on the table beside him.

Duncan looked over at the pamphlet as he sat. "Making plans for our last day here?"

Methos shrugged as he eyed the tray of pastries for his next selection. "Nothing definite. We've done most of the sightseeing bits unless you've got a yen to explore salt marshes. Although there's an interesting workshop in Loix where they're restoring old documents..."

"Methos," he said with amused affection.

Methos sighed heavily, conceding defeat. "If you want a break from the beaches, we could always go back to La Porta.  They have shops and a cinema and some nice places to eat."

"A break from beaches? But I live to see you in a bathing suit," Duncan said, biting into a croissant. More memories...

 

_Methos in baggy trunks the first day at the beach, giving Duncan an indignant look when he burst out laughing at the sight...and his greater indignation, and embarrassment, when Duncan swiped them while they were in the water..._

_Methos holding up the new Speedo Duncan had bought for him, giving Duncan an incredulous look and wanting to know where the rest of the swimsuit was...._

_Methos in the new suit, standing on the beach with the sunlight gleaming off his pale skin - for all of five minutes before Duncan dragged him off to a more private location..._

He looked across the table to find Methos smirking at him. "We haven't been over to Le Bois-Plage at all. They have an outdoor market; I'd like to pick up a few souvenirs as gifts. We could bike over this morning and buy some things for a picnic lunch."

"You have a serious kink for cycling, don't you?" Methos said with a mock groan, reminding Duncan of their first full day there and Methos' diatribe on the subject.

 

_"What is all this emphasis on cycling?"_

_"What - can't you ride one?"_

_"Of course I can," Methos said indignantly. "A cycle is a staple of poor college students everywhere."_

_"And how long since you've ridden one?"_

_"Probably more recently than you! I don't need to practice that skill."_

_"You need the exercise."_

_Methos grimaced. "I get all the exercise I need, thank you very much."_

_"I don't call wrestling in bed serious exercise."_

_"And I thought you enjoyed yourself last night."_

_"I did." He grinned. "As did you. Twice."_

_"Braggart."_

_"Seriously, though, you know you need to exercise. Having a baby is a hell of a strain on a body. You need to be in top shape."_

_"I don't think it's the shape of my top that I have to worry about," Methos said, critically studying his profile in the full-length mirror. "It's my bottom that's getting shot to hell."_

_Duncan_ _had tumbled Methos onto the bed and set about proving there was absolutely nothing wrong with Methos' bottom..._

 

"Any good beaches over there?"

Methos picked up the guide. "Several, including a 'clothing optional' one: Les Petites Folies."

Duncan snorted. "If you think I'm going anywhere near a nude beach with 'les petites' in the name..."

Methos grinned. "Feeling insecure, Mac?"

"Just don't want to show up the locals."

Methos rolled his eyes. "There are six other beaches, too."

"Sounds like a plan." Duncan glanced at the map. "We can spend the morning over there, come back here to change, then go over to La Couarde or into La Flotta or St. Martin for dinner."

Duncan finished his breakfast and went back into their room to put on his swimsuit with a lightweight shirt and shorts over top. As he tucked a windbreaker into his bike pack, he glanced over at the doorway. Methos was leaning against it, hands stuffed in the pockets of his borrowed robe, and the expression on his face made Duncan grin.

"Talk about someone looking like they want to eat someone else up..."

A grin pulled at Methos' mouth."Of course you loathe the idea of anyone finding you edible."

"Of course." Duncan dropped his bag on the bed and moved to pull Methos into his arms, kissing him. "But if you keep looking at me like that, we're going to end up back in bed."

"And this would be bad because...?"

Duncan laughed and slid his hands down to squeeze Methos' ass. "Because I want to save a little something for tonight. Our last night here, and I want to make it special." He smacked Methos' butt lightly. "Now get dressed."

There was little traffic on the main streets this early in the morning, and once they turned onto the bike path for the short trip southward, they found they had it to themselves.

Duncan moved forward from his trailing position to ride alongside Methos and glanced over at him. Four days of hedonistic lounging about in the sun had managed to give Methos a bit of a tan and he seemed more at ease. The shadows under his eyes had disappeared and he looked more relaxed than he had in months. Duncan rethought his plan to look for holy ground in Paris or London; someplace in the country would undoubtedly be better. Now all he had to do was convince Methos.

Methos looked around and, catching him watching again, gave Duncan an amused look. "Watch the road, MacLeod. I don't fancy being knocked arse over elbow if you lose control of that thing."

Duncan grinned and dropped back behind Methos as another group of bikers approached, content to watch the view for the rest of the way.

The market was colorful and busy, and they strolled slowly through the stalls, not in a particular hurry. Methos picked out fruit, cheese and bread for their lunch. Duncan somehow found himself both paying for the items _and_ carrying them, but it seemed pointless to protest. He found a few little things to take home to his extended family -- and so, apparently, had Methos, judging by the ceramic pot with flowers he was holding up.

"What do you think of this?"

"Nice. Planning on taking it back home?"

Methos gave him a look. "They're for Madame Martine, idiot."

"Should I be jealous?" he asked, amused.

"Look, I just thought it would be a nice gesture since she's gone out of her way - "

Duncan grinned. "It _is_ a nice gesture. And I finally figured out how you got all those women to marry you, besides your obvious physical charms and devastating wit, of course."

"Of course."

"Their mothers fell for you."

"Oh, thanks a lot, Mac!"

Duncan laughed and slid an arm around Methos' waist, hugging him briefly before handing over money for the purchase. Methos made arrangements to have the flowers delivered and scrawled out a card to accompany it, then they gathered their other purchases and their bikes.

They headed north along the sea road towards the beach they'd chosen, one that was less popular with the tourist crowd. At this time of day, there were few people about except for early risers like themselves, but that was the way Duncan liked it. They spread out their towels and Duncan set their lunch in the shade offered by the palm and cypress trees lining the dunes.

With a speed previously seen only in the bedroom, Methos stripped off his outer clothes before racing down to the water's edge. Duncan wasn't far behind and tumbled him into the water. Methos came up sputtering and laughing at the same time and a spirited wrestling match ensued. The points were about even: Duncan was harder to topple but Methos was as slippery as a seal, and they moved further from the shore until they were almost chest-deep in water.

He finally managed to capture Methos in a body hold, chest to chest with his arms locked around Methos' back. Methos' face was flushed with laughter and exertion, and Duncan couldn't resist the urge to kiss him. Methos groaned and readily surrendered to the kiss as he pressed closer, and Duncan could feel his erection harden against Duncan's own. His hands slid down the sleek back of their own accord, slipping beneath the waistband of Methos' swimsuit to cup smooth flesh, and he heard Methos groan.

"Mac...we can't...public.."

Duncan spared a moment from his worship of Methos to look around. "We're alone. And no one can see what we're doing out here."

"They can guess." Methos moaned as Duncan's mouth moved down to ravage his neck while his hands pushed down the scrap of swimsuit to give him better access. Methos' own hands unerringly found Duncan's cock, freeing it from confinement, and Duncan groaned. One hand moved from its resting place on Methos' ass to likewise find Methos' cock, pumping him in smooth synchronization with the strokes Methos was applying to his own erection. He felt Methos' head drop to his shoulder, felt the sharp teeth fasten on his flesh, and it was enough to send him over the edge. He pressed one finger inside Methos, seeking his target with devastating accuracy, and felt Methos shudder against him.

They stood there for a long moment afterward, leaning on each other weakly as they caught their breath, and then Duncan began laughing. He could feel the smile forming on Methos' face, resting against his shoulder.

"What?"

"I can't believe we just did that. We're worse than teenagers."

Methos pressed a kiss against the flesh under his lips. "We're newlyweds, it's allowed. Although this obsession you have with my swimwear is seriously disturbing, Mac."

Duncan grinned as he helped put said swimsuit back in place. "I thought you were interested in my kinks and fetishes."

"That one is too kinky, even for me."

Duncan gave him a disbelieving look. "Right - pull the other leg while you're at it."

Hand in hand, they made their way out of the water and back to their towels, and Methos stretched out with a contented sigh. Duncan fished sunscreen out of his bike pack and knelt on the sand next to Methos, slathering it on exposed flesh made vulnerable by Methos' reduced healing powers. Although Methos had bitched the first time Duncan did this, he'd enjoyed the attention and now he all but purred under Duncan's ministrations. Duncan grinned at the further evidence of his spouse's sensual nature, then fetched them each a bottle of water and settled down for a leisurely morning of sun and relaxation.

By noon, both the sun and the crowds had started to become more intense, and they abandoned their places on the beach to move further up into the shade with their picnic lunch. Another quick dip in the ocean followed and then, by mutual consent, they dressed and headed back towards the maison.

It was cool in the shady garden and, after bathing and changing, they settled into lounge chairs off the common terrace. Methos, who still tired easily, drifted off to sleep while Duncan contentedly relaxed nearby, reading and guarding his husband's rest. The maison was quietly stirring with activity around them as the other guests drifted back from their activities for afternoon tea.

Duncan had met most of them over the past few days: the British couple who had been coming here each June for the past thirty years, a young French couple who owned a sailboat and were enjoying the local waters, and an American family with two children, the eldest of whom, a teenaged daughter, had been clearly unhappy to be here instead of one of the more active resorts on the mainland. That is, until Methos had begun telling some of the legends of the island, including a tragic romance that had caught the young girl's fancy. Since then, according to her relieved parents, she had been blissfully seeking out the Sites of Ill-Fated Passion and mooning over them.

It was the first time Duncan had seen Methos interacting with young people, and he had been surprised by his deft way with children. Although, when he stopped to think about it, he shouldn't have been surprised. With so many past marriages and his own references to pregnant spouses, Methos no doubt had more experience with parenting than Duncan. He smiled, trying to picture Methos holding a baby, and ruefully acknowledged that it was one thing he'd have to see to believe.

Methos stirred from his nap just as the tea-trays arrived, his waking eyes as always finding Duncan first. Duncan grinned and resisted the urge to smooth down Methos' sleep-ruffled hair. Several of the other guests drifted in, settling into chairs with greetings and inquiries about the day's activities and evening's plans. The teenager was in raptures over her discovery of the exact place where the distraught heroine had thrown herself into the ocean after learning of her lover's death at sea, and Duncan watched in amusement as Methos listened to her with credible composure.

The older English woman and the teenager's mother took seats next to Duncan, and he politely put away his book. "Shall I be mother?" Mrs. Hewitt, asked as she reached for the teapot. "Your last day with us, isn't it?"

Duncan nodded as he accepted his cup from her. "Yes; we leave in the morning for Poitiers. Adam wants to see Futuroscope."

"Young people so enjoy those things, don't they?" Mrs. Hewitt said indulgently. "Well, I don't mind saying we'll miss you both around here when you're gone."

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Parker, the mother of the teen, said with a sigh. "Adam has been just wonderful for Stacy. She actually picked up a _book_ today. In _French_.  'Mr. Pierson said that was the best way to get the flavor of the island'."

"Your young man's got his head on straight, I'll say that much," Mrs. Hewitt said, adding milk to her tea. "A teacher, is he?"

Startled, Duncan said, "Yes, he is. Or, rather, he's looking for a permanent position as a teacher, now that he's finished his doctorate. How'd you guess?"

"He's got that air about him. I expect he's right popular with the young folks."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Duncan said.

"Pity he won't have any of his own," she continued, giving Duncan a piercing look over the top of her cup. "He'd be a natural."

"Um..."

"Of course," Mrs. Parker said, brightly, "you could always adopt. They're getting more flexible about that sort of thing these days, aren't they? Or you could get a surrogate mother."

Duncan flushed as he realized Methos had heard a bit of what they said and was giving him an amused look. "It doesn't matter to you that we're...together? Having a child with us?"

Mrs. Hewitt laughed softly. "My dear, the older I've gotten, the more I've come to realize that people are just people," she said, patting his hand. "You and Adam were meant to have children. Now my youngest, Susan: there's a body that shouldn't have children. Doesn't have enough sense to raise a kitten, that one."

Duncan and Mrs. Parker laughed and the two women began exchanging horror stories about their off-springs' foibles, much to the embarrassment of young Stacy who escaped from the garden, probably taking refuge in her room to dream over the ill-fated lovers.

Michel and Karine Lacombe entered the garden, waving aside offers of tea as they explained that they were on their way down to the port to take their sailboat out. "It will be a splendid afternoon," Michel pronounced. "The wind is good and the sun is high.  What more could be wanting?"

"An extra set of hands," Karine said, her eyes twinkling as she turned to Duncan. "Adam tells me you have crewed on sailboats before, Duncan? Would you like to join us?"

Duncan gave them a startled look and then glanced over at Methos. He was smirking at Duncan, looking for all the world like the cat who had gotten into the cream, and Duncan realized Methos had arranged this for him.

"Are you sure?" he asked Methos.

Methos nodded. "Go on. You know you've been pining to go sailing."

"But what about you?"

"I think I can manage to amuse myself for a few hours," Methos said, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "I'll meet you at that little bar across from the dock when you get back in."

Duncan hesitated for a minute, worried about leaving Methos unprotected for even a short time. But they'd never caught a hint of an Immortal in the area, and Joe promised to give him a head's up if any headed in their direction, so he decided it was probably safe enough.

He looked back at the Lacombes. "I'd love to. Just let me change shoes and grab a jacket."

Methos followed him back to the room, ostensibly to fetch his book, and Duncan took a moment to pull him into his arms and kiss him.

"I love you," he said softly. "Thank you."

Methos grinned at him. "Go. Have a good time. Come back with your hair in a knotted mess and your skin smelling like salt water and sweat, and I'll get my reward then."

Duncan laughed. "Have I discovered one of _your_ kinks, Methos?"

"I've always been partial to sailors."

Duncan gave him an amused look. "Is this where I hear about the time you sailed with Marco Polo?"

"Actually, I was thinking of the time I spent with Jason and his crew. Wonderful sailor, Jason, not to mention deadly with a sword. Terrible taste in women, though."

Duncan snorted. "Right. Be good while I'm gone."

"I'm always good."

"All right, then, be careful." Duncan gave him a last kiss. "And when I get back I'll demonstrate my knot-tying skills."

"Promises, promises."

 

* * *

 

The taxi arrived promptly at nine the next morning, and the driver loaded their luggage in the trunk while Madame Martine bid them a tearful farewell.

"Have a wonderful life and be careful," she admonished them, hugging each in turn. "The world is not always so good, _ou_ i? And remember you are always welcome here."

"Thank you, and we'll remember," Methos said, kissing her cheek. Duncan kissed her as well, and then they got into the taxi and headed back to the mainland.

"Well, old man?" Duncan asked softly. "Enjoying our honeymoon so far?"

Methos grinned at him. "Lots of sun, good food, decent sex - what's not to enjoy?"

"Decent sex? Don't you mean indecent?"

Methos gave an exaggerated sigh. "You and your kinks are going to be the death of me. Or get me arrested. One or the other."

"I didn't hear you complaining last night," Duncan said with a grin. "In fact, I didn't hear you say much of anything besides 'yes' and 'more' and 'harder'."

"Which I will obviously have to stop doing, since you're getting an over-inflated image of your sexual prowess."

"Speaking of inflated, I can't believe you packed that blow-up sheep in your luggage. And you were worried about what Madame Martine might find in _mine_!"

"I was just being considerate of your needs, Mac. Being my virgin bride, away from your family for the first time, I thought you might want a familiar face from back home. And I must say that taking your katana to poor Anna was hardly chivalrous behavior."

Duncan gave him a pointed look. "Very funny. Just you wait till we're alone tonight. I don't know whether I should strangle or spank you."

Methos grinned. "Do I get a vote?"

"You're seriously warped, old man. Did you know that?"

"This from the man who has a fetish for swimwear?"

Duncan laughed and wrapped an arm around Methos. "No, just for the body inside it." He brushed a kiss over Methos' temple as Methos chuckled in return and settled against him with a sigh.

"You know, Mac, if the rest of the honeymoon is this good, I may never want to return to Paris."

Duncan grinned and rested his cheek against Methos' hair.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More honeymoon images can be found at [Honeymoon Scrapbook page 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9738747) at the Gallery. Images of Les Tardes can be found on [Les Tardes photos](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9738759) on Chapter 6 of the Gallery.

"A fourteenth century _castle_ , Mac? You have _got_ to be kidding."

Duncan didn't even look up from the road as Methos stared in disbelief at one of the  printouts Duncan had handed him. "It has a moat and drawbridge, and a new suite at the top of the castle with a king-sized bed. Do you know how hard it is to find larger than a double in anything that wasn't built during the last twenty years?"

"Do you remember how uncomfortable castles were during the 14th century?"

"I don't recall staying in many," Duncan said dryly.

"Well let me tell you that they were drafty, not to mention unsanitary."

"I'm sure they've put in modern conveniences. In fact, it says each room has a private shower and toilet. And they have a wedding night special including a champagne brunch and late checkout."

"Ignoring the fact that it _isn't_ our wedding night and I can't have champagne..."

Duncan briefly turned to grin at Methos. "Relax. I didn't book us in there, although I _was_ tempted. Look at the next printout."

Methos shuffled through the papers. "Fifteenth century French country manor - now _this_ is much more like it."

"It's just north of Poitiers, convenient for touring the area. Only double beds but we'll just have to get cozy."

Methos gave him an amused look. "I think we can manage." He looked back at the brochure. "It looks interesting and - Mac! You've got us in the part that's a renovated _barn_? You have _got_ to be kidding!"

 

* * *

 

Duncan flopped on the bed on his back, groaning. "I can't believe you dragged me over the entire park."

Methos almost bounced into the room, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, come on, Mac! Futuroscope was great! You had a wonderful time, admit it."

"I'll admit there isn't a single part of my body that hasn't been technologically abused.  My eyes and ears may never be the same, even with Immortal healing. Next time you want to go, I'm sending you with Richie."

Methos made a face at him as he shed his clothes. "At least Richie would let me go to the fun exhibits."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "You mean the really rough rides. Don't pout. You saw the signs:  _'les femmes enceintes ne sont pas admises a ces séances'_."

"I'm _not_ a pregnant woman," Methos said indignantly, crawling onto the bed in his boxers.

"I'll get them to change signs to include pregnant men.  Will that make you happy?"

"Maaac."

Duncan rolled onto his side facing Methos and gently laid his hand over the slightly swollen abdomen. "Are you all right?" he asked. "No cramps, dizziness, unusual pain?"

"I'm _fine_ ," Methos said, exasperated. "I'm Immortal, remember? And these are tough little guys inside me. A few bumpy rides aren't going to hurt us."

"God help me, they're probably going to be as addicted to those things as you are," Duncan grumbled, then, in mute apology to his unborn offspring, he bent down to press his lips against Methos' abdomen.

"Mmm," Methos said, his eyes drifting shut. "That feels good."

"I'm amazed you're not sick, considering what you put in your stomach today," Duncan said, continuing to kisses the area.

"First you complain I'm not eating enough, then you complain about _what_ I'm eating. Make up your mind, Mac."

"All I can say is, if you have nightmares or are sick to your stomach all night, don't look to me for sympathy."

Methos couldn't help snickering. He knew that at the first hint of illness, Duncan would be all over him, doing everything he could to help. Duncan must have realized the same thing because he just smiled and leaned up to kiss Methos briefly before returning to his oral examination of Methos' chest and abdomen.

Methos let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the sensation of Duncan's lips and hands and hair moving across his naked upper body. A sudden sharp nip on his nipple made him arch even as he protested. "Mac!"

"Just checking to see if you're still awake," Duncan said, grinning.

"If you look lower, you'll see I'm awake."

"What, this?" Duncan asked, teasingly running a finger down the erection tenting the front of Methos' boxers. "Sorry, but I've seen this guy up and ready for action when you were snoring loud enough to shake the room."

"Dammit, Mac!" Methos surged upwards, trying to roll them, but Duncan was expecting that and expertly pinned him with hands and legs.

"Uh-uh. This time I'm driving and you're going to lie here and take it."

"Just get _on_ with it!"

"Impatient? Is there something about amusement parks you didn't tell me? Do they crank your motor?"

Duncan slipped his fingers through the front of Methos' boxers, toying with his balls for a few minutes before letting his fingers once more slide up along Methos' erection to grasp it firmly. Methos gasped and tried to swear but Duncan caught his words with his mouth as he dove in for a brief, heated kiss.

Releasing Methos' mouth, he glanced downward, his eyes captured by the sight of his hand moving inside the boxers. There was something erotic about touching his lover in this way, a feeling of furtive, forbidden pleasure, and it fired his blood.

He remembered two nights ago: Methos' smoldering eyes watching him all during dinner, feeding his own exhilaration after he'd spent an afternoon sailing, and the combination had made him drag Methos into a darkened alley behind the shops. He'd pushed Methos up against the wall and devoured his mouth and then his cock, all the while aware that Methos was making the most incredible sounds around the fist he had jammed in his mouth.

He mouthed Methos' chest again, teasing and working his way down while his hand continued to stroke. Methos was moaning almost non-stop by now but that wasn't enough for Duncan. He pulled Methos' cock through the flap and dropped his head to take it into his mouth.

Methos' reaction was explosive, and Duncan had to use his own body to pin Methos down. Words were tumbling out of Methos' mouth, some of which he actually understood, and his hands were gripping the bedding so tightly that Duncan thought he'd have to pry his hands loose. He shifted closer, taking Methos deeper, and that was it. Methos jerked beneath him as he cried out Duncan's name, and then collapsed bonelessly to the bed.

Duncan sat up, unconsciously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he surveyed his lover's body. Methos was sprawled on his back, his chest still heaving as he attempted to catch his breath, his semi-flaccid cock hanging out of the flap of his boxers. Duncan grinned; it was a great sight and one that made him aware of just how tight his own pants were.

He slid off the bed and, after making sure the door was locked and their weapons within reach, removed his clothes and crawled back up on the bed. Methos seemed mostly recovered, and he held out his arms to welcome back his naked lover. Duncan kissed him, a long, lazy kiss, while he settled his body over Methos'.

"You know, there's a good reason why I asked for this suite," he murmured between kisses. "Out here in the barn, no one will be bothered by your screams of pleasure."

Methos gave Duncan an amused look. "I don't recall screaming."

"Ah, but the night is young," Duncan said, giving him a kiss, "and I love a challenge..."

 

* * *

 

Methos leaned his head back and closed his eyes, tilting his face up towards the sunlight. _How like Duncan,_ he thought in amusement, _to have rented a convertible._ Although he had to admit he was enjoying it, especially when they could drive with the top down.

Methos tilted the seat back slightly and adjusted both his sunglasses and his legs so that he was more comfortable. After the previous night's marathon session, he was feeling both tired and sore in several places, but he knew he was also grinning like an idiot. Duncan had more than met his goal, and only the knowledge that their suite in the renovated barn was _far_ from the rest of the house had made him able to meet the other guests at breakfast with any sort of equilibrium. Not that the other guests had done more than smile stiffly in response to their morning greeting which, after the general acceptance they had found at _Le Maison Douce_ , had been like a dash of cold water.

He frowned and diverted his thoughts, an art he had perfected over the past few millennia. "So where are we going now?"

"I told you, Tours."

Methos squinted at the road for a moment, noticing that they were leaving the main road at Chatellerault and heading east, then closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the seat. "Shouldn't we have kept going north for Tours?"

Duncan shrugged. "Our reservation isn't till tomorrow night, so I thought we'd take the scenic route. Explore the countryside, have a  picnic lunch, and just stop for the night wherever we feel. I've heard that the area around La Roche Posay is nice."

So it wasn't just Methos who had felt the chill from the other guests at the chateau they had just left. It was apparent that Duncan had cut short their stay in Poitiers rather than subject them to bigotry and discomfort, and Methos felt a wave of fondness. How like Duncan to disrupt his carefully laid plans rather than tolerate such behavior. However, since it was apparent that Duncan didn't want Methos to realize he'd changed his plans, Methos decided to go along with him by acting just as he normally would.

"Not feeling well this morning?" he asked with mock solicitude. "Thinking about taking the waters, Mac?"

Duncan gave him a side-glance. "Thinking about drowning you in one of the mineral pools, more likely."

Methos chuckled, then winced as he shifted into a more comfortable position. "I could use a healing spring today, that's for certain."

Duncan immediately became concerned and he anxiously ran his eyes over Methos' body. "You okay? Maybe we should have stayed another day, let you rest."

"Don't fuss, Mac," Methos said. "I'm fine, and I'd rather be out enjoying this day than cooped up in a hotel room." He reached out to link his fingers with Duncan's, closing his eyes again. "I always meant to get to La Roche Posay one day but never got around to it. Rae and Taylor tried to talk me into going with them to the racetrack but something came up..."

His voice trailed off as he remembered what had "come up".  He'd been granted access to Duncan MacLeod's chronicles after he claimed to have found a reference to Duncan having met Methos. He'd holed up for a week with the reports and beer and take-away, and had emerged with quite an embarrassing infatuation.

He glanced over at Duncan, marveling again at the vagaries of Fate that had brought them together. His eyes greedily absorbed the moment, safeguarding it against an uncertain future, and he caught the hint of a smile on Duncan's face.

"Probably a book, if I know you," Duncan said. "If we ever decide on a place to live, we're going to need a whole separate building to house all those books you've got squirreled away."

"Well, considering how long I've had to collect them," Methos retorted.

They fell silent, content to enjoy the beautiful morning drive. Duncan reclaimed his hand as they crossed the river Creuse and entered the town, slowing down as they passed through the old defensive walls and entered the main part of the city. Duncan deftly steered the car through the narrow streets, blessedly free of tourists this early on a Sunday. Methos had straightened in his seat and was looking around with interest.

They parked near the center of town and got out to stretch their legs. There were few places that were open yet but Duncan located a bakery for a mid-morning snack. Methos noted that it took only a few minutes for Duncan to charm the proprietress completely, and the two of them were pouring over a map of the area as she pointed out the best places to visit as well as possible picnic sites.

Once back in the car, they decided they weren't up for any of the typical tourist attractions like the fortified church, so they headed out of town. Methos once more leaned back in his seat and put on his sunglasses, and within minutes he was sound asleep.

Duncan glanced over, intending to ask if he'd prefer to visit Angles-sur-l'Anglin, reputed to be the prettiest village in France, or head further south to the abbey church at Saint-Savin with its frescos, and discovered that Methos was sound asleep. A fond smile curved his lips and he decided to drive along the side roads for awhile until he found a secluded area where he could spread out the blanket for lunch and a nap.

After an hour, his driving had him heading back towards La Roche Posay and he looked around for a place for them to have their picnic. A country lane opened off the main road and he turned, following until it ended in front of a chained gate. A large sign to the side advertised that the property was for sale and the grounds looked deserted.  It also looked like it would have a great view of the surrounding area. He stopped the car and turned off the engine.

Methos stirred and opened his eyes, looking around. "Mac? Where are we?"

"A little ways outside the town." Duncan got out of the car, reaching into the back seat for a blanket and the picnic hamper. "I thought we'd have our lunch here and enjoy the local scenery, then head back to find a place for the night."

Methos gave him an incredulous look. "In the middle of the road?"

"No. Over there." Duncan headed towards the gate.

"Mac, in case you didn't notice, there's a gate and it's locked."

"Methos, in case you didn't notice, it's only four feet high."

Methos gaped, unable to believe _Duncan_ was suggesting trespassing. "You have got to be kidding. You want us to climb over that fence, onto someone's property, to have a picnic?"

"The place is deserted."

"Yes, well, in my experience that doesn't preclude having large, ferocious dogs wandering about to savage unsuspecting trespassers."

Duncan set down the hamper and was straddling the fence, and he gave Methos an amused look. "I'll protect you."

"You'd better," Methos informed him. "I don't heal as well from dog bites as I used to." He handed Duncan the hamper and climbed over the fence, keeping a wary eye out for signs that their trespassing would be violently opposed. There wasn't a sign of man nor beast, however, and he relaxed as he followed Duncan across the field towards the shelter of trees.

"Mac," he breathed, reaching the place where Duncan had stopped, and the two of them stood for a minute, gazing appreciatively down from the little hilltop over the countryside.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Duncan asked. He spread the blanket so they could lounge on it while they ate, and Duncan was gratified to see that Methos' appetite was back. After two months of watching his lover deal with constant nausea, he still couldn't take this return to normal for granted. Oddly enough, it seemed as though _he_ was having trouble with queasiness, although not nearly as bad as Methos' had been. He resolved to ask Julian about that when they saw him next.

He'd half-expected that Methos would nap again after lunch and was surprised when he suggested a walk instead. In fact, Methos was looking around with a faint frown.

"There's something about this place," he said to himself, and began walking in the direction of the driveway towards what had to be the house or farm connected with the property. Duncan quickly packed away the remnants of their lunch and, leaving the hamper, followed Methos. He hadn't walked far before a familiar feeling washed over him, and he stopped alongside Methos.

"Holy ground," he murmured and Methos nodded. From here, they could see what appeared to be the main part of the property. There were three conjoined buildings, of stone or stucco, with the usual red clay tile roof. Beyond that, Duncan could see the faint outline of other buildings, perhaps stables or a barn. Not a house or a farm, then, but a small hamlet.

"Too small for a religious center," he said. "And I don't see any signs of an old church or temple.  These buildings must have been built around the 17th century. Although I suppose it could have been a supporting farm for the church in La Roche Posay or the Abbey in Saint-Savin."

"I've never known Benedictines to sanctify a farm," Methos said quietly, and he started walking towards the buildings again. He turned off the driveway, following a path that cut behind them, and Duncan followed.

Along the back of the main building, they found a square pavilion that looked different from the rest of the structures. The lock on it hung open and Methos cautiously opened the door so that they could look inside. A few steps led down to a pool hewn out of the rock, and Duncan eyed the steam rising off of it with interest.

"A thermal spring," he murmured.

Methos crouched next to the pool and cautiously stuck his hand into the slightly bubbling water, then touched a finger to his lips. "Mineral water, and at a guess I'd say it's like the ones in town."

Duncan nodded. "Maybe the locals thought this was a holy spring. But with so many in the area, why sanctify this one?"

Methos didn't reply. He walked across the grounds to a terrace off the house and tried the door. "Locked, of course." He peered in through the glass, shading his eyes so he could see through the sun's glare. "Looks like it was a private clinic most recently." Methos stepped back and looked up at the building appraisingly. "This must have been the original part, then they added on these two other sections."

Duncan watched him curiously. "Why the interest?"

Methos shrugged. "I like to keep an eye out for properties on Holy ground. You can never tell when one might be useful."

Now Duncan looked around the place with a different purpose. "It's only a half-hour out of Poitiers, then an hour on the TGV to Paris. Two or three hours driving."

Methos nodded and Duncan knew they were thinking the same thing. "The estate agent's name is on the sign out front."

"There won't be anyone there on a Sunday, but we can go by their office first thing tomorrow," Duncan offered. "That'll give us a chance to check out the town, see what the neighborhood's like."

A smile tugged at of Methos' mouth as they walked back to where they'd left the picnic hamper. "Checking out the local schools, Mac?"

"A bit early for that, don't you think? Or are you expecting them to be prodigies?"

"With my brains and your looks, they can't be anything but exceptional." Methos picked up the blanket and headed towards the gate.

Duncan grinned and then, after a moment of thought, said, "Hey! What about _my_ brains?"

"They're very nice, Mac," Methos said soothingly. "And I'm sure you'll find a good use for them someday."

Duncan glared. "Nice. And why shouldn't the babies inherit _my_ brains and _your_ looks?"

"You'd actually wish this nose on our children?" Methos said, gesturing towards his face with mock disbelief.

"Of course not!" When Methos folded his arms across his chest and fixed him with a Look, Duncan quickly began backpedaling. "I mean - it's a very nice nose and I'm very fond of it and..." He set the hamper down in the back seat and looked over at Methos, then sighed. "I'm not getting any tonight, am I?"

"Not without some serious groveling."

Duncan gave Methos a wicked grin. "Oh, I think I can manage that. I'm very good on my knees, or so I've been told. Almost as good at ass-kissing, just in case you're interested."

Methos shifted slightly in his seat. "I think I just might be interested at that."

"Good." Duncan shifted the car into drive, turned it around, and headed into town.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, as they lay entwined in each other's arms, their bodies cooling down until they could sleep, Methos murmured, "We don't know what the interior is like. I expect it'll have to be totally renovated. The wiring is probably archaic at best, not to mention the plumbing."

Duncan sleepily nuzzled the shoulder under his head. "Not as though I haven't done remodeling before. Or you, for that matter."

"No." Methos was silent for a long moment, absently running his fingers through his lover's loose hair. "Mac?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you really give up Paris?"

Duncan roused, hearing the seriousness of the question, and shifted so that he could look Methos in the eye. "I have in the past."

"For Seacouver, which isn't exactly the middle of the French countryside."

"I haven't always lived in a big city," Duncan pointed out. "And it's not like we're talking about relocating on the moon. Paris is not that far away." He leaned forward to kiss Methos. "What about you? Can you live without a bookstore and take-out food on every block?"

"You offering to cook, Mac?"

Duncan smiled. "If that's what it takes."

"To do what?"

"To keep you safe," Duncan said, his smile fading away. He met Methos' look squarely. "I doubt there are many challengers out here."

"I don't want you to be a martyr - "

"I'm not being one," Duncan interrupted, placing his fingers over Methos' mouth. "I've been thinking about this for awhile. You've already pointed out to me that Paris isn't safe, especially with a family to look out for. And I'm so tired of all the challenges..."

Methos pulled Duncan back down on his shoulder, holding him tight. "Duncan."

Duncan wrapped his arms around Methos, taking comfort. It was a relief to be able to give in, to not be the strong one all the time. "I stayed in Paris because of Tessa. Honoring her memory, I suppose. But lately..."

"I know."

"And I think about getting away, but then I start thinking about Amanda and Richie.  What if they needed me and couldn't find me? And Joe.  Bad enough I drag him between Seacouver and Paris, but is it fair for me to move some place else? He's already had to get a manager for Seacouver, and the club here is  starting to get a reputation...and what are you laughing at?"

Methos' chuckles developed into a full, ringing laugh and, despite himself, it made Duncan grin. "Only you would worry about inconveniencing your _Watcher_ , for God's sake!"

"He's more than a Watcher, he's a friend. And he's not getting any younger. What if they force him into retirement, get someone new?"

"Then it'd be someone else drinking bad coffee to stay awake on cold nights and watching you through binoculars," Methos said practically. "Mac, do you think that if Joe stopped being your Watcher, he'd stop being your friend?"

"They already make it hard and at least he has an excuse. If they moved him to another area, they could keep him from seeing me."

"Bollocks," Methos said succinctly. "Nobody stops Joe Dawson from doing what he bloody well wants to. Not even you. So we decide to move to the country and they retire Joe - so what? If I know Joe, and I do, he'll just follow us and set up a bar or bookshop or whatever the hell he wants to nearby. Face it, Mac.  You're stuck with him, just like you're stuck with me."

A warm feeling spread through Duncan's chest. "I think I can live with that."

"Good. Now as for the rest of your troublesome clan, we'll have to make sure wherever we settle has guest rooms. Okay?"

"Okay." Duncan snuggled in closer, turning his head to press a kiss against Methos' shoulder. "Thanks."

"Anytime. Now go to sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us."

 

* * *

 

The estate agent looked at them in disbelief. "You are interested in Les Tardes?"

Duncan and Methos exchanged a look. "It _is_ for sale, isn't it?" Duncan asked.

"Of course! It's just..." The man shrugged eloquently, as if dismissing foreigners and their crazy ideas. "You wish to see the property?"

Methos nodded, not mentioning that they had already been on the grounds. The agent sighed heavily and opened a drawer, searching through it before withdrawing a key ring. "Come; we shall take my car."

As they drove through the city, Methos said, "Monsieur Gilles, what can you tell us about the place?"

He sighed nostalgically. "Back in my grandfather's day, it was well known as a place of healing. Always has been, even before the Blessed Gwenvrei les Tardes was martyred there and, through the intercession of St. Martin of Tours, restored to life."

Duncan and Methos exchanged a look at that, and Duncan resolved to ask Joe if those names were familiar. "When was that?"

"The end of the 4th century. It was a holy shrine for many centuries, run by the Blessed Sisters until their order died out.  In the sixteenth century, a doctor bought the property and built the first of the buildings that still stand. His descendents continued his work, adding onto the original building.."

"Then why are they selling it?" he asked.

"No one comes to Les Tardes for healing anymore. All prefer the modern spas with their elegant rooms and massage therapists and technological innovations. No one has _faith_ in miracles anymore."

He stopped the car in front of the gate and got out to unlock it, then drove up the graveled pathway before parking the car. With his ring of keys, he led the way to the first building and unlocked the door.

"This is the newest part, built in the 18th century. Here on the left you can see the large kitchen and dining area," he said, gesturing towards an open doorway. "The old kitchen was replaced just two years ago.  The new owner thought to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast but ran into financial troubles. This room across the hall was once the clinic office and library.  You can see the original terracotta floor tiles."

Methos nodded, his eyes drinking in the large fireplace flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. "Mac," he breathed, resisting the urge to go over and run his hands over the beautifully crafted wood shelving.

Duncan squeezed his shoulder and left Methos to his rapt contemplation. He followed Gilles through the building, noting with that they were actually three separate structures connected only on the lower floor. Gilles talked nearly non-stop, pointing out that the bedrooms and bath on the second floor of the newest building had nearly-completed renovations. The remaining two buildings were less ready; the main floor of the middle building hadn't been touched while the upstairs had been gutted and left with the new plumbing and wiring exposed. Still, the view of the valley from the private terrace upstairs took Duncan's breath away, and he lingered there for a few minutes, barely hearing the realtor talking about exposed beams and reinforced flooring.

The last section was a complete shambles, both the first and second floors in the midst of being gutted, and for a moment Duncan was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work that would have to be put into the place.

He found Methos there, apparently unconcerned by the mess, standing in a bedroom off the main room on the first floor. It was a large, open room with a partially screened off bath area at one end and two large windows at the other, and was also in complete disarray. Duncan looked questioningly at Methos.

"A bedroom on the first floor with an open, accessible, private bathroom," Methos said.

"You think you're going to be too incapacitated to manage the stairs?"

"Not for me," Methos said. "Joe."

Duncan acknowledged the wave of jealousy and accepted that Joe would always have an important place in Methos' life and affections. "You're right; it would be perfect for Joe." He turned to critically survey the outer room. "And if we gut this, we could turn it into a nice living room. That would save the other room with the shelves you were drooling over for your library. Six other bedrooms for visitors...this could be just what we're looking for."

"The downstairs bedroom in the original part is pretty small," Methos began.

"Not too small for a nursery," Duncan pointed out. "The thick walls would keep it well insulated and it's got a sink. Plus the upstairs room is huge and has an incredible view. They've already reinforced the floor for a tub and shower. It'd make a great master suite."

Methos turned to look over his shoulder at the realtor. "The out buildings?"

"Of course. This way." His original indifference had changed once he realized they were seriously interested and not just wasting his time, and it was with enthusiasm that he pointed out the enclosed spring, an outdoor bread oven, and the stables built in the style of the area.

Heading towards the last building, a large barn-like structure, Gilles said, "The previous owners supplemented their living with a carpentry shop, and most of the original equipment and part of the stock was left behind." He unlocked the padlock and pushed open the doors, revealing a large workroom with a sawdust- covered floor and a clutter of implements hanging from the walls and strewn across one of the worktables. Duncan lingered over the old implements, touching them with appreciative hands, but Methos contented himself with wandering around the room and looking.

At the back of the workroom was a doorway and he opened it, peering through the gloom to see that it was apparently a storeroom for the completed goods. A few chairs and a small table or two were all that was left, but as he crossed the floor to take a look at them, the sound of wood flooring under his feet made him pause and look down. Then he dropped to his knees and ran his hand over the surface. It was filthy, of course, but it was beautifully fitted tongue-and-groove flooring.

"Mac."

Duncan appeared in the doorway, concerned by the tone in Methos' voice. "Are you okay?" he asked, moving quickly toward Methos.

"It's wood," Methos said, "and in beautiful shape. A lot of cleaning and a little buffing..."

"A training salle?"

"Better than using the garden in winter."

Duncan snorted. "You mean that mess behind the house? Garden is too kind a word for it. You're right; this would make a great place to work out." He turned back to the shop area. "I've always liked working with my hands. I could have a workshop out here."

"It'll take a mint to wire the place," Methos said cautiously.

Duncan nodded in agreement. "We'd need to put in a generator. Wouldn't want to risk being caught without power."

Methos looked around and frowned as he said, slowly, "I don't know, Mac. The whole place needs a lot of work."

"The newest section isn't bad. Kitchen's modern and the upper rooms only need a little work. We could move in there while we're fixing up the rest." He studied Methos' face. "You _are_ seriously considering the place, aren't you?"

Methos turned and met Duncan's eyes, nodding. "Yes. Unless you hate it."

Duncan looked around to see if the realtor was watching, but the man had remained in the outer room so he pulled Methos into his arms and kissed him quickly. "I love it. Let's see what they want for the place."

The smile on Methos' face made Duncan feel as if he'd plunged right into the warm spring.

 

* * *

 

Duncan drove through the beautiful French countryside, heading north towards Amboise where he'd booked them into an 18th century manor house in the heart of chateaux country for the last three days of their honeymoon. After the disaster of Poitiers, he was feeling a little anxious about the whole thing.

Maybe he should just forget about it, he thought. He could change their reservation on the TGV and they could go back to Paris tonight. It wasn't as if either of them would be able to think of anything other than the contract they had just signed and the closing in a month. He sighed.

Beside him, Methos was paying little attention to the beauty around him, either. All his attention was focused on the cell phone held to his ear, as it had been for the past half hour.

"I'm certain, Montrose. The property in London; they've been wanting to buy that for years.  The half-share in Spain, too. I'll fax you written verification after I get to my hotel in about - " He paused and glanced over at Duncan who held up two fingers. "Two hours. No, not the usual account.  Put the funds in the one for Adam. It's a gift to my nephew to help him get started. Yes, he finally finished school. I'll give him your best wishes."

As Methos listened intently to the voice on the other end of the phone, Duncan took a moment to study his lover's face. Yet another view of the man he loved, this one a sharp-edged businessman who apparently had one of the largest investment firms in London at his beck-and-call. Duncan idly wondered what made someone with so many resources at his disposal take on the guise of a poor college student.

When Methos finally disconnected, Duncan said, "You didn't need to do that. I've got enough money to buy it."

"And we're going to need a lot to get that place in decent shape," Methos pointed out. "Best save the ready cash. The property sales will take a little while but they should be completed before we close on Les Tardes."

"And you want to buy the place yourself."

Methos turned to look at him. "Yes. I want to buy the place myself."

"Fair enough." There was silence for a few minutes. "So, this Michael character.  Your last identity?"

"In a way. I got tired of him but he's too useful to kill off. Every now and then, a rich recluse can come in handy."

"I can imagine. So, why Adam Pierson, poor graduate student? And, come to think of it, why that whole sham about needing a place to stay when you got tossed out of your apartment? You could have just tapped 'Uncle Michael' for the money for a new place."

A smirk turned up the corner of Methos' mouth. "Ah, but then I wouldn't have had the fun of annoying you."

Duncan grinned.  "I thought so."

Methos shifted in his seat, leaning his head back and staring up at the incredibly blue sky. He had a feeling that he could get used to all this sunshine. "Money is overrated, Mac. I have simple tastes and only basic needs: food, shelter, beer, books, clothing..."

"The way you raid my closet, you don't even need _that_."

"And I learned a long time ago that wealth is an illusion. Once, I spent a couple centuries amassing a respectable fortune and thought I had it securely tucked away."

"What happened?"

"Ever hear of Pompeii, Mac?" Methos said wryly. "Wiped me out. I had to start all over again. Combine that with looting armies, economic disasters, and countries rising and falling... Currency is such a fragile thing."

"But Michael - "

"Holds a lot of property and investments, mostly in commodities. Land, Mac. It's the only thing that really lasts, and even that changes..."

Duncan had to blink hard to keep his eyes clear as the lump in his throat threatened to choke him. There was such aching, devastating loss in those words. Duncan had always been intrigued by what the Oldest of them must have seen, experienced, but he had never seriously thought about what it must be like to see civilizations rise and fall, the land - hell, even the stars - change. And alone. Always alone.

He reached out blindly and touched Methos' hand, folded his own around it. Holding hands, each of them lost in their own thoughts, they drove north through the French countryside.

 

* * *

 

They stopped for an early dinner and Duncan thought about discussing a change in plans, returning to Paris a few days early. Methos, however, was in suddenly high spirits and Duncan couldn't maintain his gloomy mood while Methos was spinning stories about the last time he had been to Amboise.

"Da Vinci?" Duncan asked skeptically. "You knew Da Vinci?"

"Knew him? I was one of his assistants for a few years. In fact - "

"Don't tell me: some of his best inventions were _your_ idea."

Methos grinned. "How did you know?"

Duncan shook his head. "I never know when you're telling the truth or feeding me a line."

Methos leaned his chin on his fist and grinned at Duncan across the table. "Just one of the ways I maintain my reputation as a man of mystery."

"One thing I would definitely believe is that you taught the Irish all about blarney."

"Well, now that you mention it..."

Duncan laughed. It was that or drag Methos across the table and kiss him silly.

He was in a more cheerful mood as he turned the car towards Amboise instead of the train station, navigating through the streets. Le Vieux Manoir had been a real find, a stately 18th century mansion right in the heart of the city with its own private grounds and yet only blocks away from the Royal Chateau. It was still being turned into a Bed & Breakfast by an American couple, friends of a friend, and the main house wasn't open yet, but he'd managed to secure the small 17th century dower house for three nights.

The welcome was warm, from the man at the gates to the owners who greeted Duncan and Methos personally. Their hostess guided them through the main house and along the passageway that connected to La Maison de Gardien, chatting with Duncan about their mutual friends in Boston, and apparently unconcerned when both men carried their luggage into the master bedroom. After ascertaining what time in the morning they wanted their breakfast served and giving Methos directions to the fax machine off the main lobby, she left them to get settled.

Methos regarded the bed with delight. "A queen bed. Mac, I could kiss you."

Duncan gave him an amused look. Their previous night's accommodations had included two twin beds, which they had abandoned for blankets on the floor, and the double beds they'd occupied since leaving the Isle had been awkward for two tall men to handle. "I certainly hope so." He pulled Methos into his arms to receive his kiss and repaid it with one or two of his own. When he released Methos' mouth, he sighed contentedly and kept his arms around him. "Feel up to a walk?"

Methos chuckled as he kissed Duncan's neck. "Well, if I can't convince you to pursue another form of exercise..."

"Plenty of time for that. I'm feeling a little stiff after that drive and could use a stretch."

Methos grinned. "We certainly can't have any part of you staying too _stiff_."

Duncan popped Methos lightly on the ass. "Behave." Reluctantly, he released Methos so they could grab their coats and head out.

They strolled down to the banks of the Loire and walked along it towards the Royal Chateau, pausing while Duncan purchased tickets for Wednesday night's spectacle, then crossed over to the Ile d'Or and walked along its length. Dark was falling as they returned to the city center and they settled at an outdoor café to refresh themselves and watch the passing throng, unabashedly holding hands.

They didn't talk much; it didn't seem to be that kind of evening. Even when they returned to their lodging and slipped under the sheets together, they made love with the same hushed intensity, quiet moans and whispers replacing more vocal expressions of their passion. Sated and content, wrapped in each other's arms, they drifted into sleep.

Methos was roused briefly by a stray lock of hair tickling his nose. He brushed it aside and pressed a last kiss on Duncan's lips. He couldn't help smiling at the blissful look on his sleeping spouse's face as he tucked his head back down and, with a contented sigh, had the fleeting thought that, perhaps, something else besides the land would last this time...

 


	42. Chapter 42

Joe met them at the train station in Paris, a wide grin on his face when he caught sight of them. "You two certainly look rested," he drawled as he looked them over. "Nice tan, old man. Guess you got outta bed for a couple of hours."

Methos gave him a mock-scowl. "That's it. Mac, don't give him his present."

Joe grinned. "Aww. And I was so looking forward to a T-shirt saying 'My Immortal went to L'Ile de Re and all I got was this lousy T-shirt'."

"You've been peeking, Joseph."

Duncan looked at Joe in consternation. "You were Watching us?" Memories of the time he and Methos had made love in the ocean, not to mention the blowjob he'd given Methos in an alley, flooded back and he felt himself flushing.

"Nah," Joe said dismissively, leading the way to his car. "I've got better things to do than watch you two playin' kissy-face. They assigned a temporary Watcher to Adam but he lost you guys in La Rochelle. Picked you two up again when you came off the island but Futuroscope did him in. I hear he asked for reassignment, once he stopped throwing up."

Methos gave Duncan a triumphant look. "And another one bites the dust."

Duncan shook his head as he stowed their luggage in the trunk. "You'd think you'd have more sympathy for your former colleagues."

"I do, as long as they keep their binoculars and cameras to themselves."

"So, where first?" Joe asked as they got into the car. "Barge or apartment?"

"Connor's at my place, " Duncan began.

"Left yesterday, something about an important function at the kid's school. Alexandra said to tell you the fridge is stocked and there are casseroles in the freezer."

"Your place it is," Methos said. "I'm pretty sure everything in my fridge has filed for citizenship by now."

Once at the barge, they unloaded their luggage and then the three men settled comfortably with drinks in hand.

"So, don't leave me in suspense," Joe said. "I got a report to fill out, remember? Don't want to know the details, just the highlights."

They exchanged a look."I don't remember any, do you?" Duncan asked innocently.

"Not a thing."

"Guuuuys."

"Although we did buy a house."

Joe spewed his drink and swore, glaring at Methos. "Very funny."

"I'm serious. Although it's not so much a _house_ as a hamlet."

Joe looked at first one, then the other. "You bought a whole _town_?"

"Not a town, Joe," Duncan said, amusement twitching his lips. "A hamlet. You know: a couple houses, a barn or two..."

"You bought a hamlet," Joe repeated, as if by doing so it would make more sense.

Duncan shrugged. "I know, a bit over the top, but when Methos gets a nesting urge, he _really_ gets a nesting urge. Ow!" He rubbed his side where a sharp elbow had connected.

"It's holy ground, Joe," Methos explained. "It's a little over three hours from here by car, an hour and a half by TGV."

"Needs some work - " Duncan added.

"That's an understatement."

" - but nothing we can't do."

"That's really great, guys," Joe said, and looked at Methos. " 'Bout time you got your sorry ass on holy ground."

"Why, Joe, I'm hurt! Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Joe's smile was a little sad around the edges. "Much as I'll miss you, you ornery old bastard, I'll feel a lot better knowing you're safe."

"You don't have to miss him, Joe," Duncan said. "Methos has a guest room all picked out for you. Seemed to be a major selling point of the place."

Joe's jaw dropped and Duncan couldn't help grinning at the sight. "You're kidding, right?"

"Would I kid about something like that?"

Methos gave Joe an amused look. "I figured all that Watching experience will come in handy when we need a sitter."

Joe snorted. "Sitting I can do, but forget about changin' diapers."

"That's Duncan's job."

Duncan gave Methos a disgusted look. "Thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it." Methos settled into his usual sprawl across the couch.

Duncan looked at Joe as a thought occurred. "The land we're buying: there's a story that it became a shrine after the miraculous resurrection of a Gwenvrie de les Tardes."

"And you think she was an Immortal?"

"Could be," Duncan said, nodding. "Would you see if there's anything on her? I'd hate to go to all the trouble of buying and renovating the place, just to have an irate Immortal show up and want our heads for taking her property."

Joe sighed dramatically. "Sure, sure. You're just insatiably curious. I'll see what I can find but it'll probably be tomorrow before I do. You two gonna still be here?"

They exchanged a look. "No, we'll be at Methos' place, trying to reclaim it from the sentient life-forms occupying his refrigerator."

"I'll be glad when you two get settled into _one_ place. All this ping-ponging between two homes is making me crazy."

"Speaking of food," Methos said, looking over at Duncan, "isn't it about time for lunch?"

Duncan rolled his eyes as he got up. "Yes, O Lord and Master."

Joe chuckled as Duncan headed towards the kitchen. "You've got him well trained."

"I heard that!"

Methos grinned. "Yeah, but you have to admit I had good material to work with."

"I heard that, too." Duncan brought Methos a new bottle of water, collecting a kiss as well, and Joe rolled his eyes.

"Do you guys have to do that in front of me? If it's not Amanda and Nick acting like cats in heat, it's you two all over each other."

Duncan chuckled as he headed back into the kitchen to investigate the casseroles Alexandra had left for them. "So that romance is still going strong?"

"Hotter than a four alarm fire," Joe paused. "You do know they've gone back to Toronto, don't you?"

Duncan nodded. "I thought they would. How's Richie?"

Joe smiled. "He's got a new friend."

"Anyone I'd approve of?"

"Oh, I think so," Joe said. "Father Liam."

Duncan gave him a surprised look. "I didn't think religion was down Richie's alley."

"I don't think it is, either. However, the Father plays a mean game of basketball."

"Ah," Duncan said, understandingly.

"I hear the good Father has a way with troubled kids," Methos said, picking at the label of his bottle instead of looking over at Duncan.

Duncan looked over at Methos as he put the casserole into the oven. "And you think Richie could use his help."

Methos shrugged. "It's a thought. The two of you seem to have some...issues, Richie won't relax around me, and he has a bit of a crush on Amanda. He could use another Immortal to talk to. At least Liam is one of the good guys."

"Richie has a crush on Amanda?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Of course he does. He's still a kid in a lot of ways and she's very  glamorous and sophisticated. It's not serious."

"I hope not," Duncan said, a worried tone in his voice.

"Relax, Mac," Methos advised him. "Loosen the apron strings a little. Richie's got a good head on his shoulders and he learned a lot from you and Tessa. He'll be fine."

Duncan sighed. "You're right, and I'll try. Connor wants me to send Richie to him."

"And you'd actually consider doing that to the poor kid?" Methos teased.

"I thought you liked Connor."

"In small doses. But Richie, stuck in one of those dig sites for months at a time?" Methos gave a mock shudder. "He'll come back looking for your head for sure."

"Connor could teach him a lot," Duncan protested, but he couldn't help grinning at the thought of city-bred Richie stuck miles from civilization. "It'd be good for him."

"Right. Just make sure he knows it's not _my_ idea when he comes hunting."

Duncan laughed, then turned the conversation back to Joe and what had happened while they were away from Paris.

 

* * *

 

Julian gave them each an appraising look at they were ushered into his office the next morning. "You two look well rested. And Methos, is that a tan? You did something on your honeymoon besides sex. Isn't that illegal?"

Methos gave him a look. "Could we please get on with this? I've got ten gallons of water inside me."

Julian grinned. "Well, if you'd prefer, I can let you empty your bladder and use the other transducer..."

"No, thanks," Methos said hastily.

"Feeling a little bit sensitive down there, are we?" Methos glared and Julian chuckled, leading them next door. He tossed a gown to Methos. "Everything off but the boxers."

As Methos stalked into the changing room, muttering under his breath, Julian turned to Duncan. "Everything okay so far?"

Duncan nodded. "He got lots of rest, good food and exercise.  It seems to me that he's looking a lot better. Oh, and we're buying a place on holy ground, about a half hour away from Poitiers. We'll be moving as soon as it's ready."

"That's good news," Julian said, relieved.

"There's no problem about the distance?"

Julian shook his head. "At this point, the farther from any major city you are, the better. And once Methos starts showing, I'd want to do home visits. I can come down on the train after my regular clinic hours, check him out and stay overnight, then head back in the morning. I assume this place is near a decent sized town with hotels?"

"Forget about a hotel," Methos said, coming back into the room. "This place has three guestrooms ready, and when we get finished renovating it, there'll be six guestrooms in addition to the master bedroom and nursery."

"What did you buy, a castle?"

"Don't get him started on castles," Duncan warned Julian darkly.

"It's a hamlet with a holy well and a warm spring."

"Sounds good. And if the spring isn't too hot, it'll be nice for you to relax in during the last few months." Julian gestured towards the examining table and Methos settled on his back, trying to get comfortable with what seemed to be an anvil sitting on his bladder. "Have you been behaving yourself?"

Methos grinned. "More or less."

"Do I want to know what that means?" Julian rolled the equipment cart next to the table and pulled up the gown to expose Methos' belly.

"It means I had to sit on him to keep him off the rougher rides at Futuroscope," Duncan said, giving his spouse a glare. Methos resisted the urge to stick out his tongue in return.

Julian grinned. "Why am I not surprised? Duncan's right, though, Methos. You need to be careful, especially over the next few months. Your center of balance is going to change dramatically so don't take any chances."

Methos made a face at him, then nearly jumped out of his skin as Julian squirted cold gel on his abdomen. "Shit! Sadist."

"So glad you noticed." Julian looked up at Duncan. "Okay, we're doing a couple things today. First, we're going to find the little darlings and take a look at them. Then we'll take some measurements and record the heartbeats. Finally, I'm going to withdraw some of the amniotic fluid for testing purposes.  I have to do that through the abdomen and it'll hurt a little bit."

He gestured towards the equipment stand and said, "I'm also making a tape of the sonogram for you to keep."

Duncan gave him a grateful smile, moving to the other side of the table so he could hold Methos' hand and see the monitor. Julian deftly ran the probe over Methos' belly, watching the monitor as he did so.

"Here we go, twin number one." Julian made some adjustments to focus in closer, studying the image. "Looks good. Development is right where it should be at this point. Good size but not developing too quickly." To Methos he said, "Hold still while I get some measurements."

With his light pen, Julian made several notations on the monitor screen, measuring the head, body length, and so forth. "Can't tell the sex from these images, it could be a girl or a shy little boy, but the amnio will tell us that."

He prepared the slender insertion tube and looked at Methos. "This is going to feel like a punch in the gut so hold on." Watching the monitor, he selected a spot and inserted the tube. Methos winced at the sudden pressure and Duncan covered Methos' hand with his own, encouraging him to squeeze it tightly. A moment later, Julian had the sample and he gave Methos a reassuring look.

"All right?" Methos nodded. "Good. One more to go."

Julian concentrated on the images. "Ah, here we go, twin number 2. A little smaller but still within normal bounds." He gave them both a look. "You do know that twins are smaller in general than singles, right? Also, they tend to arrive before term so expect a mid-January delivery instead of at the end of the month."

"Will that give them enough time to develop properly?" Duncan asked anxiously.

"They'll be just fine," Julian said, taking the measurements quickly and taking the second sample. Methos squeezed Duncan's hand hard but didn't make a sound, although he let out a relieved sigh when Julian removed the tube.

"There, all done," Julian said. "Go ahead and use the bathroom, then come back and we'll take your vitals."

Methos carefully sat up, grousing. "You ever thought about warming up the gel?"

Julian grinned. "What, and take away all my fun? I like seeing my patients jump."

"On top of a full bladder? Sadist."

Still grumbling, Methos carefully made his way to the bathroom. Julian and Duncan watched him, trying desperately not to laugh as neither of them particularly felt like dying that morning.

"So, Methos is doing okay? Nausea has settled and the fatigue is easing?"

Duncan nodded. "He's eating anything that's not nailed down; sometimes the combinations he chooses make _me_ sick."

Julian gave Duncan an appraising look. "You're feeling nauseous? Is this recent?"

"Just the last week or so."

"Anything else unusual? Alternating between fatigue and bursts of energy? Increased libido? Extreme sensitivity in your nipples?"

Duncan flushed. "Actually, yes. How did you know?"

"It's not that uncommon for some fathers to experience _couvade_ \- sympathetic pregnancy. It usually starts in the third month and can continue throughout the second trimester."

"You mean it's all in my head?"

"Not at all. The medical community has come to realize that it's very real. Sit up on the table and take off your shirt; I want to check out something."

Duncan complied, pulling his shirt over his head as Methos came back into the room. "Trying to drum up additional business?" he asked Julian.

"Just checking out MacLeod'," Julian said, carefully palpating the chest area around Duncan's nipples.

Methos smirked, leaning against the wall. "Oh, he's in great condition."

"I'll take your word for it," Julian said dryly. "He's experiencing _couvade_ and it's possible that he might lactate after the babies are born."

"What?" Methos asked, straightening up.

"The glands are gearing up for the possibility."

Duncan blinked. "That's impossible. I'm not pregnant."

"Actually, men can nurse, given sufficient incentive. With your strong bond, I was wondering if this would happen. Consider it Mother Nature's insurance for the young. Immortals have a risky life. With both mother and father able to nurse, the baby stands a greater chance of survival."

Duncan paused in pulling his shirt back on and frowned at Julian. "You didn't mention this before. In fact, there are a lot of things that you haven't mentioned."

Julian sighed. "MacLeod, even _I_ don't know everything about Immortal pregnancy. Each one is unique. Even if Methos were to get pregnant again - "

"God forbid," Methos said darkly, glaring at Duncan.

" - a second pregnancy could be  different. There's no point in giving you a list of things that _might_ or might not happen."

"So what do I do?" Duncan asked.

"The nausea will pass within the next month or two, but in the meantime, keep crackers and ginger-ale on hand for queasy mornings. Once the babies are born, it's up to each of you whether or not you nurse them. If you don't, you won't produce milk and any changes will return to normal within a few days."

An image of Methos nursing appeared in Duncan's mind and it was oddly erotic.  He flushed.  "And if Methos decides to...you know.  He's not exactly built like a woman in that area." He ignored the amused snort from his spouse. "Will he get bigger?"

"Not enough to be noticeable. The increase in milk-making tissue will make a slight difference but he  doesn't  have to rush out and buy a bra."

"Thanks a lot," Methos said ironically.

"Seriously, if you feel up to nursing, it would be better for the babies. They may be pre-Immortal but they're still babies and need all the advantages they can get."

Duncan nodded, glancing over at Methos, but the expression on the other man's face was unreadable. "We'll think about it."

"I'll give you some literature on the subject, pro and con breast feeding."

"How soon will we know the results of the tests?" Methos asked, deftly turning the subject.

"I'll have the lab put this on priority so by this time next week we'll know if there are any problems with the twins. We'll also know the sex.   I'm assuming that you want to know?"

"I'm not sure," Methos said with a half-smile at Duncan. "If they're both boys, there'll be no living with Mac for the next six months."

"And I'll get pretty damn tired of his 'I told you so' if they're both girls."

Julian chuckled, shaking his head as he popped out a videotape and labeled it. "How you two manage to avoid killing each other on a daily basis amazes me." He held out the tape. "Get out of here and let me get back to business."

 

* * *

 

They had agreed to go back to Methos' place after the doctor visit, although Duncan insisted on stopping for groceries first since neither of them were sure they'd find anything edible in the apartment. After cleaning out the fridge and restocking it, they both decided they were too tired to cook so Methos ordered in food while Duncan went to take a shower.

Duncan didn't take a long - it wasn't nearly as much fun alone. Toweling dry, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and paused, deliberately taking a longer look. His body looked the same as it always did, the same as it had for the past four hundred years. The knowledge that something _was_ different, even if it was short-term, was hard to comprehend. His hand moved to his chest of its own volition. It didn't feel any different; it certainly didn't look like it would be able to provide food for a baby.

"The food's here. You going to stare at yourself all day or are you going to come eat?"

Duncan looked up and caught Methos' reflection. "How do you deal with your body changing in a way you never expected?"

Methos leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms, an amused look on his face. "As I recall, I whinge and bitch and moan a lot."

"I'm serious."

Methos sighed. "Look, Mac, like Julian said, you can just ignore the whole thing and it'll go away shortly after the babies are born."

"But what if I don't want to," Duncan said, still watching him through the mirror's reflection, unable to turn and look at him directly.

Methos' eyes met Duncan's in the mirror. "You mean, what if you decide to nurse them?" Duncan nodded silently. "I wouldn't be surprised. Frankly, I thought you'd be ecstatic about this."

Duncan flushed. "It's not something I ever expected to do," he said evasively.

Methos snorted. "Well, getting pregnant wasn't anything I ever expected to do, either."

"Which is why I asked how you cope."

Methos crossed the small space between them, wrapping his arms around Duncan and resting his chin on his shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror again. "It doesn't change who you are. It doesn't make you less than what you are. It just adds another dimension." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "in Julian's office, you were thinking about me with a baby at my tit, weren't you/"  Duncan flushed and Methos said.  "So the thought was...strange?"

"Sexy," Duncan croaked.

Methos' eyebrows went up but the caustic remark Duncan was expecting didn't come.  Instead, Methos' hands drifted up from his waist, delicately circling the dark nubs of Duncan's chest. His eyes never left Duncan's as he began pressing kisses along the side of Duncan's neck, interspersed with nips. Duncan caught his breath at the heat in his lover's eyes, then moaned as Methos' fingers gently flicked his nipples.

"Bed," Methos said, voice thick with lust.

"What about dinner?" Duncan asked, feeling a little breathless under the gentle onslaught of Methos' hands and lips.

"Later. Right now, I want to eat _you_." Methos' hand dropped to rip away the towel wrapped around his waist, then ventured southward to caress his cock, and Duncan shifted into a slightly wider stance. He could feel his lover's length through his pants, and pressed back harder against it as his hands dropped to the sink to brace himself.

Methos laughed softly and bit harder on Duncan's neck. "You are such a slut. I bet I could fuck you right here, right now, and you wouldn't say anything except 'more' and 'harder'."

The mental image made Duncan shudder and he moaned, "Yes," then ground his ass against Methos.  "Do it!"

He couldn't help a protest as Methos' hands abandoned their current occupation so he could tear open his pants and push them down, then slick himself up.  But then Methos was back, pressing up against him, his cock sliding against Duncan's ass. He shifted into an even wider stance and bent forward slightly to make it easier for Methos to slide into him, groaning at the wonderful feeling of fullness. Methos' hands returned to their earlier task as he steadily rocked inside, and Duncan used the leverage from his hold on the sink to push back to meet his thrusts. Their eyes locked in the mirror, the heat in them blazing even hotter than the heat in their bodies.

Methos was muttering under his breath now, endearments and crudities liberally mixed, and Duncan's breath caught in a sob as his body rushed towards completion. Methos' teeth bit down into his shoulder and it was all Duncan needed to tumble over the edge. He felt Methos shuddering behind him, then they slumped over the sink, breaking eye contact for the first time.

Duncan drew in a deep breath, trying to force air into starving lungs, and felt Methos' murmured words against his back. He grinned. "I love you, too, but if you don't move, I'm going to pass out." Methos chuckled and managed to force his body into an upright position. "And you realize that I'm going to have to take another shower."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Methos said as he kicked off his pants and went to turn on the shower.

Duncan popped him lightly on the ass as he followed him into the shower. "If we're going to talk about _bitching_..." Methos glared and Duncan chuckled, reaching for the soap. As he lathered up his lover's chest, his fingers brushed over Methos nipples. "So it's okay that I find the idea of you breast-feeding sexy?"

Methos grinned and leaned forward to brush his lips over Duncan's. "Yes. Oh, yes.  A little perverted but..."

He laughed at Duncan's growl and bent his head to flick his tongue over one of Duncan's nipples. Duncan moaned and clutched at Methos' head, holding him there, and Methos chuckled. The vibration on his sensitive nipple stirred his cock and he tugged Methos' head up, kissing him hard as he pushed him back against the wall.

Dinner could wait just a little while longer.

 

* * *

 

Duncan wasn't sure what woke him: the faint light from the kitchen, the emptiness of the bed, or the growling of his stomach. After their impromptu session in the shower, they had been too tired to eat and had stumbled to bed.

He sat up and located his missing spouse sitting at the table.  He'd somehow managed to curl his legs up in the dining room chair with the rest of his body, like a contortionist. His head was bent over a carton of Chinese food that he was shoveling into his mouth, but all his attention was focused on something lying on the table. Duncan got out of bed so he could get a better look and gave an exasperated and amused snort. A manuscript of some kind. Of course.

"Did you leave me any?" Duncan asked, tugging on a pair of boxers. Methos, his mouth full, gestured with chopsticks towards the counter where Duncan could see a half-dozen cartons lined up. "Good God, how hungry did you think we were? Never mind, stupid question."

He detoured by Methos' chair, dropping a kiss onto his lover's hair and glancing down at the carton Methos was clutching, then wished he hadn't. Methos appeared to have mixed several of the entrees together and from what Duncan could see, Sweet and Sour Shrimp was happily congressing with Kung Pao Chicken and Garlic Pork, while a pot sticker poked out from underneath, and the whole mess appeared to be coated with duck sauce. His stomach heaved.

"You are _definitely_ not getting a kiss until you brush."

Methos chuckled but didn't even look up from the manuscript. "Live dangerously, Mac."

"There's dangerous and there's insane. And then there's you: dangerously insane. Or is that insanely dangerous." Duncan didn't even glance into the waiting containers, not wanting to tempt his queasy stomach into revolt. He found a container of plain rice and, after pouring himself a cup of hot tea, carried both to the table.

"What's that?" he asked after settling at the far end where he couldn't smell the concoction Methos was devouring. He gestured at the papers on the table.

Methos pointed at the stack in the middle of the table. "Property report: the contract, everything my people could find, and remodeling plans the current owners submitted for permits."

Duncan reached over to pull the stack closer. "Maybe we can use those to get some estimates from the electricians and plumbers." He noticed that Methos was still absorbed in the papers in front of him. "And that?"

"Joe sent this over: information about the original occupant of Les Tardes."

"So she _was_ Immortal then?"

Methos nodded. "It says Gwenvrie was a simple peasant girl, dedicated to the Church when she was young. She apparently had her first death near the end of the fourth century when a drunken Roman soldier stationed at the spa town took exception to her vow of chastity and ran her through with his spear." Duncan frowned at that. "Relax, Mac. She was suitably revenged. According to legend, St. Martin - well, he wasn't a saint yet - prayed over her lifeless body and she was miraculously restored to life.

'The soldier was, as you can imagine. immediately sobered up by that and thrust his spear violently into the ground, then collapsed to his knees and converted on the spot. And, supposedly, from the place where he stuck in his spear a font of healing water sprang up."

"So Martin sanctified the area."

"And the former soldier built Gwenvrie a small hut on the land before returning to his post to renounce his warring ways."

"Bet that went over well," Duncan murmured. "And Gwenvrie?"

"Lived on the place for a hundred years, never aging after that day. A miracle, the locals said. Then one day, a woman traveling through the area heard about it and came to see for herself. Gwenvrie left with her the next day.  She stayed with Rebecca for another hundred years as her student."

"Is she still alive?" Duncan asked.

After a moment's hesitation, Methos shook his head. "Rebecca gave her a piece of the crystal, you see, and..."

"And Luthor killed her for it." Duncan's mouth tightened. "Damn him."

"One of the first, according to the Watchers."

Seeing the look on Duncan's face, Methos sighed. "He's dead, Mac. Brooding about it won't help anyone. not Gwenvrie and not Rebecca."

He sighed. "I know. It's just, so many of the old ones are gone."

Methos reached out, lightly touching Duncan's hand before resting it on the table beside Duncan. "I'm still here, Duncan," he said quietly. "And I don't plan to go anywhere for a long, long time."

Duncan covered Methos' hand and smiled, feeling the heaviness in his heart lift. "Good. Because neither do I."

 


	43. Chapter 43

A week later, Methos stared at his reflection in the mirror, frowning. "This is disgusting."

Duncan paused in making up the bed and, glancing over at Methos, saw he was wearing his most disreputable jeans. "I've been saying that for a long time."

"Not the trousers," Methos said, irritated. "This!" He pulled at the waistband, futilely trying to fasten the top button.

Duncan abandoned bed-making for the greater calling of soothing his spouse. He slid his arms around Methos, one hand resting on the slightly distended abdomen. "I don't think it's disgusting. I think it's wonderful, and so are you."

"You won't think that when I'm as big as a house," Methos said darkly.

"I'll always think that," Duncan said, nuzzling Methos' neck, still discolored with souvenirs from the previous night's lovemaking.

"Not when you can't even get in the same bed with me because I'm so fat."

"You're not fat," Duncan said patiently. "You're not going to _be_ fat. You're pregnant, and I think you're beautiful."

"And you're an idiot with no taste."

"I chose you, didn't I?"

A reluctant smile pulled at the corner of Methos' mouth. "That isn't fair. I had a perfectly decent sulk going and you've ruined it."

Duncan chuckled. "Tell you what: to make up for it, I'll take on a shopping spree."

"Now you're channeling Amanda."

"We'll go to Maurice's and you can order one of those sinfully delicious desserts."

"Great," Methos groused, even as he stripped off the pants and searched in his dresser for sweats. "Make me even fatter."

Duncan handed Methos his boots. "And we'll stop by Joe's later so you can commiserate with him over how horrible I am to you."

"You've got to stop spoiling me like this," Methos said, sitting down to pull on his boots.

"That's all right; tomorrow morning I'll drag you out on an early morning run."

Methos groaned. "In that case, I'll just stay here today."

"And spend the next week grousing about your clothes? Not on your life." Duncan grabbed both coats and led the way out of the apartment.

 

* * *

 

"You went _shopping_?" Joe gave Methos an incredulous look after he had detailed the horrors of his morning.

"Hey, I _have_ gone shopping before," Methos said indignantly.

"Yeah, once a decade, unless it's for books. So where's Mac?" He set a bottle of root beer in front of Methos and sat down in the chair next to him. "You didn't kill him for dragging you through that, did you?"

"He wanted to take the shopping bags back to the barge, then had an errand to run." Methos made a face. "He thought I'd be 'safe' here, that I could rest up after my exhausting morning. Little did he realize I'd be risking my health drinking _this_."

Joe was silent for a moment, studying the deceptively young face across from him. "When are you gonna admit that you _like_ the way Mac fusses over you?"

Methos blinked at Joe. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Joe said, leaning across the table. "Oh, you bitch and moan, but I get the idea that secretly you love it."

Methos frowned. "I don't have to sit here and be insulted."

"That's right, you don't," Joe said.  "You could walk into any bar in Paris, order a beer, and no one would say a word. But you don't. You come here and gripe at me that Mac's banned you from alcohol and caffeine, so I gotta ask _why?_ And the answer I get is that you like it."

Methos scowled and picked at the raised lettering on his bottle. "Damn you, Joe Dawson."

"I promise your secret's safe with me. No one will ever know that underneath that irascible, sarcastic exterior lives a marshmallow."

"Now that's just plain insulting!"

"Yeah; the marshmallow industry's never gonna forgive me." More customers entered the bar and Joe pushed himself to his feet. "By the way, you're not deluding yourself that Mac doesn't know, are you?"

Methos' scowl had Joe chuckling all the way to the bar.

Duncan entered a short time later, his eyes immediately seeking out the Immortal and verifying it was his spouse. Who very obviously had his back turned to the bar. He grinned and paused by Joe.

"What's got him in a mood? I wasn't gone _that_ long."

"What, His Royal Pain-in-the Butt over there?" Joe plunked down a glass of Scotch in front of Duncan. "Just sulking over a few home-truths, I imagine.  You spoil him terribly, Mac."

A fond smile touched Duncan's lips. "He's fun to spoil, and I get the impression it hasn't happened often enough in his life."

"Yeah, well, I get the impression his ass hasn't been paddled often enough in his life. When you get around to _that_ , let me know."

Joe moved off to take care of another patron, and Duncan watched him with amusement and affection. Joe was almost as good as Methos at camouflaging his emotions but, underneath the grousing, Duncan could see Joe was genuinely fond of Methos.

He picked up his glass and made his way over to Methos' table. "Is this a private sulk, or can anybody join in?"

Methos glared up at him. "Very funny."

Duncan sat down and cocked his head. "So, you and Joe on the outs about something?"

Methos frowned. "No, of course not. It's just that certain people don't know how to keep their thoughts to themselves."

"Ah." Duncan reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a photo envelope. "This might cheer you up. I picked these up, thought we'd choose which one to have blown up."

Methos forgot his bad mood as he tipped out the photos and studied them. One of Duncan's friends, a professional photographer, had taken pictures of them at the wedding. Along with the pictures and their negatives, he'd offered, as his wedding present, to have the one of their choice enlarged to portrait size.

Methos spread the pictures across the table and looked over them quickly to get a first impression. They were very, very good; the man obviously knew what he was doing. All of them would have made a good choice, but Methos immediately spotted the one he wanted.

"Pictures from the wedding?" Joe asked.

Duncan nodded. "Geoffrey said he'd enlarge whichever one we want."

Joe glanced over the glossy photos, catching sight of one that showed Duncan and Methos framed through the arch of swords. The shot was incredible, given the brief time the photographer would have had to line it up, and it even captured the look of amazed delight on both of their faces. "He's good."

"Geoff has an instinct for being in the right place at the right time," Duncan agreed, tapping a picture that caught the two of them at the moment when Methos had dipped Duncan.

"That's debatable," Methos said, pushing aside one of Duncan smearing cake on his face.

Duncan chuckled and picked it up. "I don't know. I like this one. The look in your eyes..."

Joe grinned. "So, which one you gonna pick? These two are kinda traditional for wedding pictures." He picked up one of the two of them exchanging rings and another of them kissing.

Duncan looked at the pictures of his wedding party arriving, Methos accepting the MacLeod sword, his reaction to Methos' gift, their first dance.   Joe chuckled as he spotted the one with Methos' foot propped on Duncan's thigh while he removed the garter.

"I missed this although Richie told me  about it. Did he get one of Mac throwing the bouquet as well?"

"Somewhere in here," Duncan said, shuffling through the pictures. Then he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. "Oh."

"What's that?" Joe asked, craning his head to see the picture that had caught Duncan's attention. "Oh. My. God."

Methos sat back, a slight smile on his face, knowing it was the one he picked out. They had been dancing again, Methos wasn't sure which song only that it was a slow one. They had looked up at the same time and their eyes had met. They had both smiled but it was the expression in their eyes that made the picture unforgettable. It reminded Methos of a poem he had read a dozen or so years earlier:

 

 _"...yesterday I saw two people_  
_sitting across from each other_  
_in a crowded, noisy coffee shop_  
_holding eyes and touching hearts_  
_and knowing_  
_how soon and how deep_  
_but waiting_  
_just a little while longer..." 1_

 

"Incredible, isn't it?" Duncan murmured.

"Damned if I've ever seen anything so..." Joe was at a loss for words. "Are you sure you want to hang that in public? It could incite a riot."

Duncan laughed. "Maybe we'd better save it for the bedroom." He looked at Methos, their eyes meeting and holding.

Joe groaned.  "Guys, if you're gonna start that, take it on home. I don't need Paris' Vice squad haunting the place."

Duncan grinned and began gathering the pictures while Methos finished off his drink.

"French Vice cops, Joe?" Methos asked. "I don't think you have to worry; what was it Professor Higgins said? 'The French don't care what you do, actually, as long as you pronounce it properly'."

Joe snorted. "Right. You been dragging him to opera, Mac?"

"Musical theater, Joe," Methos corrected him. "And no, Mac doesn't drag me to operas. He's got more sense than that."

"Not to mention a strong desire to live," Duncan added. As Methos got up, he ran a quick, appraising look over him.  "You okay?" he asked, noticing the stiff way Methos stretched.

"Just a little sore; don't fuss." Methos scowled at Joe, as if daring him to say anything, but Joe just gave him an innocent look.

"When we get back to the barge, I'll give you a massage," Duncan promised, oblivious to the looks exchanged between the two. "Bye, Joe. See you tomorrow night. You're still planning on coming over to celebrate the 4th?"

Joe nodded, noticing that Duncan was keeping an eye on Methos as he sauntered towards the door.  He shook his head. "He's got you wrapped, my friend." He shooed his hand at Duncan. "Go on, get out of here."

 

* * *

 

Methos lay on his stomach on the bed, feeling warm despite his nakedness. His head rested on his folded arms, his eyes were closed to more fully enjoy the sensations as expert hands kneaded his back muscles. "Mmmm. I could get used to this."

Duncan chuckled as he leaned forward to press a kiss to Methos' shoulder. "You're tight; what have you been doing?"  He straightened back up into his position straddling Methos' thighs and continued massaging his lower back.

"Subjecting myself to a sadistic lover who dragged me half-way across France on a bicycle - ouch!" Methos glared over his shoulder at Duncan. "What was _that_ for?"

Duncan grinned and began working down the firm ass cheeks, the right one now showing a reddened handprint. "Just general principle. Joe thinks I should do it more often."

"Joe's just full of ideas, isn't he?" Methos snapped. He would have gotten up but Duncan was pinning his thighs to the bed and he didn't have the leverage to get free. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it.

"So you two _did_ have a difference of opinion. Want to tell me about it?" Duncan ran his hands over tight muscles, feeling Methos clench.

"Not particularly," came the muffled response.

Duncan didn't push as he'd learned that only made Methos close up even more. If he remained silent long enough, though, it would drive Methos crazy and he'd rant whatever it was off his chest. So he silently worked his way down Methos' thighs and calves, then set to work on the long, elegant feet.  Methos loved having his feet massaged, and Duncan often reduced him to a purring, boneless lump with one of his foot rubs. Methos wasn't quite purring, but he had relaxed completely by the time Duncan finished.

Duncan nipped at the heel with his teeth, grinning as Methos involuntarily twitched. "Roll over and let me work on your front."

Methos obligingly rolled over onto his back, tucking his pillow behind his head so he could watch Duncan, who was concentrating on his calf muscles, working silently, and Methos finally gave an exasperated sigh.

"It's _nothing_ , MacLeod. Not worth mentioning in the least, just Joe's idea of humor."

"It's not _nothing_ if it's bothering you."

"It's _not_ bothering me! _You're_ bothering me, insisting on prying into something that's none of your business!"

"You're my business."

"I've managed to take care of myself - "

"For centuries before I came along; yes, I know." Duncan moved his attention up to Methos' thighs, not coincidentally sitting on his calves to prevent a quick escape. "But I'm here now and I like taking care of you." He leaned over to press a kiss against Methos' abdomen. "All of you."

Methos scowled. "Don't do that."

"What, kiss your belly? All right, if you say so. Can I still kiss you here?" Duncan's lips ghosted over Methos' chest as he pressed a kiss against each hardening nipple. "What about here?" he asked, nuzzling Methos' long neck. "Is that allowed? And here?" He bestowed a line of kisses along Methos' jaw, ending up on his chin. "Surely I'm still allowed to kiss you here?" He kissed Methos' mouth softly.

Methos wrapped his arms around Duncan, holding him tight as he dueled for control of the kiss. Duncan's body settled over his, touching and rubbing in all the right places, and he arched into the sensation of his lover's heated mass moving against his own oiled body. He surrendered control of the kiss, settling for taking control of the body rocking against his, guiding the friction until they were both gasping and spilling between their tightly pressed bodies.

Duncan propped up on his elbows and grinned down at his lover. "For a man who was objecting to my kisses, you sure enjoyed them."

Methos glared up at him and contemplated dumping Duncan on the floor. "You know that's not what I meant."

Duncan nodded, the teasing smile fading to warm affection. "I know. And I promise not to tell anyone at Curmudgeons 'R Us that you secretly adore being cosseted. Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me, I swear."

Methos' glare deepened. "You could have just _told_ me Joe had told you all about it."

"He didn't." Duncan rolled off Methos, reaching over to the nightstand for a towel.

"Then how..."

Duncan gave Methos an exasperated, affectionate look. "How long have we known each other? How often have you crashed here or at the loft? Don't you think I noticed how much you enjoyed being catered to, even if you cover it up with comments about my choice of beer? It's nothing new, Methos, only a little more...personal now. And since I enjoy pampering you and you enjoy being pampered, what's the harm?"

Methos rolled over on his side, away from Duncan, muttering something, and Duncan leaned over him. "What was that?"

Methos glared. "Just don't tell Joe, okay?"

Duncan laughed. "I swear." He tugged  the covers over his lover's naked body. "Nap," he said, in answer to the question in Methos' eyes.

"But I'm not tired," Methos protested.

"Good," Duncan said, grinning and sliding under the covers. "Because I didn't say anything about napping alone..."

 

* * *

 

"Morning, gentlemen," Julian said, entering his office the next morning with a folder in his hand. "Everything go okay this week? How's the house coming along?"

"Good," Methos said. "We go down on Monday for a walk-through with the local building inspector and the agent, and close in two weeks."

Duncan fidgeted in his seat, too nervous about the results of the tests to indulge in small talk. His readings over the last two weeks had brought home just exactly what could go wrong with a developing fetus, and he'd been worrying ever since he woke up that morning. "Are they all right?" he blurted out.

Julian smiled as he settled in his chair. "They're fine. All tests indicate they are both healthy, well-developing babies. There are some things we won't know till they're born, but I don't think we have anything to worry about."

Duncan let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. "That's a relief."

"And as for the sexes, well, gentlemen, you're having one of each."

Duncan blinked. "One of each?"

Julian gave him an amused look. "Yes. You know, male - female. One boy, one girl."

Duncan sat back in his chair, stunned. Incredible as it now seemed, he hadn't thought of that possibility. The word "twin" had made him think of them as the same - not identical, maybe, but similar. Either two sons or two daughters, and he hadn't known really which to hope for.

"Mac? You okay?"

Duncan turned dazed eyes towards Methos, barely noticing the amused look on his face. "We're having two babies."

Methos' lips twitched. "That's generally what having twins means."

"Two _different_ babies."

Methos frowned, not following Duncan's thought process. "Yes."

A goofy-looking smile crossed Duncan's face. "A son _and_ a daughter."

Methos shook his head and glanced at Julian who was hiding his laughter behind his hand. "Please tell me he's hysterical, because I have this urge to slap him." Julian couldn't muffle the snicker that escaped. "And then you."

"I don't think he's hysterical, but he's certainly cute like that," Julian said with a grin. "You'd better take him home before he does something he'll regret."

"Home?" Duncan said, only one word drifting through the haze. "We can't go home yet, we have things to do, things to get. Clothes, diapers, cribs - do you think they'll need those little bassinets, too? It seems like a waste since they only use them for a couple months, but Mary looked so lost in the big crib..."

"Not now, Mac," Methos said hastily. "Plenty of time for that when we actually have a house to _put_ them in."

"And toys," Duncan said, letting Methos lead him to the door. "Stuffed animals. And those little things that hang above the cribs..."

Methos glared at Julian who was laughing helplessly by now. "You broke him. The least you could do is help me get him down to the car."

"You - you look like - you're doing fine," Julian managed to gasp. The look Methos shot him as he guided Duncan, who was still making a verbal list of baby needs, through the doorway made him burst into laughter again, and it was quite some time before he was calm enough to ask the receptionist to send in the next patient.

 

* * *

Duncan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the quiet breathing of his sleeping spouse. Methos had fallen asleep almost the minute his head hit the pillow, but Duncan had been too keyed up from the impromptu celebration to fall asleep.

He smiled. It had been a fun evening. When Joe heard the news, he'd insisted on going out for a bottle of champagne so they could properly toast the news, and had returned with both the champagne and Richie. The younger Immortal had been ill at ease at first; Duncan wasn't sure if it was the residual problems between the two of them, or if Richie was just uncomfortable around them as a couple. Within minutes Methos had dragged Richie into a spirited debate over the merits of various attractions at the technological amusement park, ending in them agreeing to settle the argument by a trip there the following year.

By then, Duncan and Joe had finished off the champagne and started on the whiskey, and the tone of the party went considerably downhill after that. Joe and Richie had started a contest for the worst possible names for the babies, with Duncan chiming in from time to time, causing Methos to issue an ultimatum that _he_ would choose their names. Which was probably a good thing, Duncan reflected, remembering some of the more inventive ones, like "Jessie" and "James" which had made Methos double over with laughter, sputtering something about a cat and taking over the world.

They'd finally poured Joe and Richie into a taxi around midnight and collapsed in bed with plans to clean up in the morning. And there Duncan lay, an hour later, unable to sleep.

He glanced at the clock and calculated times and locations. Alex had told him when he'd called earlier that afternoon that Connor was on a brief business trip to New York. He'd hesitated about calling Connor there, figuring he could talk to him when he got back home, but now was as good a time as any.

Moving carefully so he wouldn't wake Methos, he slipped out of bed and pulled on his robe, then grabbed his cell phone and headed up to the deck.

Connor answered on the second ring, and the gruff, familiar voice made Duncan smile. "It's Duncan," he said.

"Duncan!" He could almost hear the smile on the other end of the phone. "You're home - how was the honeymoon?"

"Wonderful, and productive."

There was a dry chuckle on the other end. "I'd say you've already been productive."

Duncan grinned at that. "I meant we bought a place near Poitiers, on holy ground."

"That's good news. You'll be moving?"

"As soon as we get it habitable enough to move in." He paused for a moment. "Connor, the tests came back today."

"Adam's all right, isn't he? And the babies?" Connor's voice was sharp with concern.

"They're fine. Connor..." Duncan's throat tightened and he swallowed. "I'm going to have a son, Connor, and a daughter. One of each."

"That's good news," Connor said, and Duncan could hear the relief in his voice. "Congratulations. I'm very happy for you."

"Thanks," Duncan said. "I don't know how good a father I'll be, but I'll try my best."

"You'll be just fine; I'm positive of that. You've got good instincts, Duncan. Listen to them and you'll do just fine."

"Thanks," Duncan said again, feeling inexplicably relieved. They talked for a few more minutes before he disconnected and made his way back down stairs. He still wasn't tired, though, so he put the tape from the sonogram in the VCR and settled down on the couch.

 

* * *

 

Methos awoke to the realization that the bed next to him was empty and he sat up, looking around in alarm. A flicker of light from the living area told him where his lover was and he flopped back on the bed with a groan. After glancing at the clock, he wondered what on earth Duncan could be watching at 3 in the morning.

Realizing that he wouldn't sleep while Duncan wasn't with him, he got up and slipped on his discarded boxers. Duncan looked up as he came down the steps, concern on his face.

"I'm sorry.  Did I wake you?"

Methos shook his head. "Couldn't sleep alone. What are you watching?"

Duncan flushed slightly as he made space for Methos on the couch, pulling the afghan over Methos' mostly naked body. "The, um, tape. You know, from the sonogram."

Methos' mouth twitched but he didn't  laugh. "How long have you been watching it?"

"About an hour," Duncan admitted. "I've been trying to figure out which is which."

Methos glanced at the blobs on the screen. "Mac, even Julian couldn't tell."

"I know, but..." Duncan shrugged. "It just...makes them feel...real." He stopped the tape and rewound to the beginning, then started playing it again. "Here's the first one: I couldn't even figure out where the head was at first, but after watching for awhile it starts to make sense. Look; I think she's kicking there."

"She?"

"I know, I just have a feeling, okay?"

Methos watched the screen and it _did_ look like the fetus was kicking. "Clearly, she takes after _your_ side of the family, but she better not do katas in there."

Duncan settled them both sideways on the couch, spooned up behind Methos, with the afghan over both of them. "And _I_ think she's taking after you and sprawling."

The image changed and Methos grinned. "No, _there's_ your sprawler. How can someone that small take up so much space?"

"Look, he's sucking his thumb. Definitely takes after you; check out that oral fixation."

"Just _who_ has an oral fixation?"

Duncan chuckled and brushed a kiss over Methos' hair. They watched the last few minutes of the sonogram, then Duncan stopped and rewound it. As he pushed play, he murmured in Methos' ear, "Thank you," and his hand slid down to cover his slightly bulging abdomen.

"Not in front of the children, Mac," Methos admonished, grinning, and then squirmed as Duncan's caress turned into a tickle. "Mac! Stop!"

Duncan stopped, but only so he could turn his attention to caressing the skin under his fingers. Methos decided there would be better times to instruct Duncan in proper child-rearing and concentrated on baring his spouse's skin.

Unnoticed, the remote slid off the couch and onto the floor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnote:
> 
> 1 "Venusian Vibrations" by Linda Goodman
> 
>  
> 
> Images of the babies at 13 weeks can be found at [Chapter 2 of the Gallery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9739821)


	44. Chapter 44

"Pierson?"

Methos turned around in the university hallway, his look of inquiry changing to a smile as he recognized the elderly professor beaming at him. "Dr. Whitman."

"I thought it was you!" Dr. Whitman took Methos' hand and pumped it vigorously. "My dear boy, how are you doing?"

"Fine, sir." Methos smiled at his old professor. "And yourself?"

"Tolerable, tolerable." His eyes twinkled. "Come to visit your two cohorts, have you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. We're having lunch together."

"Splendid! I like seeing my old students keeping in touch. I won't keep you but a moment. Did I hear correctly that you got married? Good news, and I hope you'll be very happy." Methos smiled and nodded his thanks. "Settling in Paris or elsewhere?"

"As a matter of fact, we're buying a place outside Poitiers."

"Poitiers? Really? Splendid library there, but I expect you know that. Too bad the University isn't hiring...wait." He frowned. "I know I heard something about...yes! I remember now. The city's new mediatheque is looking for a research assistant and asked if I knew anyone. Couldn't think of anyone who'd be willing to relocate for a part time position, though." He looked keenly at Methos. "Could lead to more, with the library or the university itself. Just down your alley, I'd say, Pierson."

"I'm not sure..."

"I'll write up a recommendation; drop by my office after lunch and pick it up. And I'll have my secretary make an appointment with the director. Monday morning good for you?"

"Yes, but - "

"Fine. Give your friends my regards."

Methos stood for a moment, watching his old professor walk down the hallway, exchanging greetings with other students, and wondered with equal parts irritation and amusement just when he'd lost control of his own life.

 

* * *

 

Methos entered the apartment and Duncan watched as he looked around at the cartons littering every surface as if wondering where they'd sprung from. Earlier that week, after going over their pending property acquisition with the local inspector, they'd been pleasantly surprised to learn that the refurbished wing was ready for occupancy. Based on that, they'd decided to move to Les Tardes as soon after closing as possible. They'd also decided to give up the lease on Methos' apartment at the end of the month, keeping the barge as their Paris residence when they needed to stay in the city.  This weekend they planned to spend packing up Methos' things, which would go into storage until the house was ready, although Methos would stash some things on the barge till then.

"I packed the kitchen but I didn't know where to start with your books and artifacts," Duncan said as he crossed the room to give Methos a welcoming kiss. "How was lunch?"

"Great. Rae and Taylor send their regards. They're heading out to Peru next month, on a private expedition funded by some guy from Washington. State, not the capitol."

"Good for them." He noticed Methos still looked as if his mind was elsewhere. "Methos? You okay?"

"Hmm?" Methos looked at him questioningly.

"You look preoccupied. Something happen?"

"Nothing bad," Methos said, going to the fridge for a bottle of water. "I ran into one of my old professors.  The _mediatheque_ in Poitiers is looking for a part time research assistant, and he gave me a recommendation."

"Really? That's great! When are you interviewing with them?"

"I'm not."

"Why not?"

Methos gave Duncan a disbelieving look. "Look at me, MacLeod! I'm _pregnant_!"

Duncan's lip twitched. "I noticed."

"And so will others if I take that job."

Duncan looked thoughtful. "Research assistant, huh/?  What would you do?"

Methos shrugged. "Work with researchers who need access to the library's resources on the Middle Ages, for the most part. Track down obscure quotes and references, translate passages, hunt up publications..."

"Could you do it?"

"Of course!" Methos said indignantly. "I can do that sort of thing in my sleep."

"The translating and reference-tracking - could you do most of that from home?"

"Ye...es," Methos said hesitantly.

"Then what's the problem?"

Methos opened his mouth, then closed it. "No problem, I suppose."

"Right. So when's your appointment?"

"Monday morning."

"Good," Duncan said, giving him a last squeeze. "We can open the household bank account while we're there since we didn't have an opportunity the other day."

Methos nodded, then gave Duncan a teasing look. "And while we're there, we could take a couple hours and go to Futuro- "

"Not on your life! Once was enough."

"Fine. I wonder if Richie..."

" _After_ the babies are born," Duncan said firmly. "Then you and Richie can ride the damn things till you're sick."

Methos made a face. "Spoilsport."

"Brat." Duncan walked over to the stereo system. "Now, about all this stuff you laughingly call music..."

"Touch my CDs and die, MacLeod."

 

* * *

 

Methos and Duncan entered the Mediatheque Francois Mitterand and gave Adam's names to the clerk at the desk. While waiting for someone from the administrative offices to fetch him, Methos wandered into the center's lobby and looked around in delight.

"Look, Mac! Isn't this place incredible?"

Duncan looked around at the open, airy space. "Are you sure this is a library? It doesn't seem dark and gloomy enough. And where are all the books? Surely these aren't the entire collection?" he asked, gesturing at what was clearly the children's section, and then a small collection of books and magazines beyond a row of computer terminals.

Methos gave him a tolerant look. "In temperature controlled vaults, of course."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Oh, of course."

Methos sighed. "Mac, most of the documents stored here are incredibly valuable and only accessible to serious researchers. The collection out here is just what's available to the general public, and the computers connect with the BNF - the completed parts, that is."

Duncan smiled as he watched Methos vibrating with pleasure, visibly delighted with the place. Methos' fascination and childlike joy in books never ceased to amaze Duncan, and he couldn't help wondering how Methos managed to retain his enthusiasm for learning after so many millennia. And he found himself crossing his fingers, hoping that this position would be everything Methos wanted.

"Dr. Pierson?" Methos turned around to nod at the woman approaching them. "I'm Sonia Gionetti, Assistant Director of the mediatheque."

Methos shook her hand, then gestured towards Duncan. "Duncan MacLeod, my partner."

Sonia smiled and extended her hand to Duncan. "A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur MacLeod." She turned to Methos. "If you'll follow me, we'll have a few moments to talk before the Director sees you."

Methos nodded and turned a questioning look towards Duncan who smiled at him. "I expect I'll be able to amuse myself."

Methos gave him a wicked look and gestured towards the ramp leading to the Children's reading section. "Perhaps you could spend some time improving your mind."

Duncan gave him a dirty look, then, as Methos followed the Assistant Director towards the elevators, he gave the reading area a second glance. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. If the two little ones took after their other father, they'd probably be born with a book in their hands, so he might as well get a jump on things now.

He was deep into an illustrated volume on life in an eleventh century castle when the tickle of Presence made him look up to see Methos crossing the main floor to the ramp. The look on Methos' face made Duncan grin in return, and he stood up so Methos could see him.

"Well?" he asked.

Methos stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head, giving him that endearing look combining Adam-Pierson-shyness with Methos-smugness. "I start next month, initially translating texts for foreign researchers. Apart from a monthly staff meeting, I keep my own hours and there's no problem working from home. I'll have a pass-card to give me access to the vaults anytime, plus I can use a courier to deliver my translations back here."

Duncan's own smile widened. "I think this calls for a celebratory lunch."

Methos grinned. "And you're buying."

 

* * *

 

Both men were feeling relaxed and contented when the taxi from the train station set them down in front of the barge later that afternoon. Lunch had been pleasant and the business of opening a joint household account quickly accomplished. The money from the sale of Methos' London property had been deposited, and Duncan had initiated the transfer of a substantial part of his liquid assets as well. He'd have to make a trip back to Seacouver sometime that fall to wrap up some financial affairs, and there was the whole matter of the loft to be decided, but nothing needed his immediate attention. In the meantime, they were well set up for both the closing on Les Tardes and the costs of renovation.

Methos looked over at Duncan as the taxi drove off and they headed towards the barge. "So, plans for something to do this evening?"

Duncan slid an arm around Methos and gave him a wicked look. "Other than you?"

"I made a big mistake by putting out every night," he complained. "You take me for granted."

"Never, not even if we live to be - " The warning buzz of an Immortal jolted Duncan, and he looked around warily. A groan from Methos made him swing back toward the barge in time to see a familiar figure emerge.

"Darlings! I was starting to wonder if you were _ever_ coming home, although Joe assured me you were still in town. I would have gone by the apartment, but he said you've given it up. And was he serious: you're buying some little town in the country?"

Duncan sighed and managed to smile at Amanda when she paused long enough to give him a hug and a kiss. "Not a town, just a little place on holy ground."

"Good," she said, turning to bestow a greeting on Methos. "I was beginning to worry. So come inside and tell me all about it."

The irony of Amanda inviting them into their own home wasn't lost on Duncan. "Making yourself right at home, aren't you?"

She gave Duncan an amused look over her shoulder as she linked arms with Methos and led the way inside. "I didn't think I needed to stand on ceremony with you two."

Duncan took in the sight of a suitcase and coat sitting to one side, plus the wine glass on the table, and rolled his eyes. "No, of course not,"

She gave him a mischievous smile. "Don't worry, I wouldn't think of intruding. You can take me to a hotel after dinner."

"Of course," Methos said, removing his coat and hanging it up. "Don't think twice about inconveniencing us."

"I won't," Amanda said cheerfully. She eyed the suit Methos was wearing and raised an eyebrow.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Job interview," Methos informed her, removing the tie and tossing it aside, then headed for the closet. "I hope you don't mind if I change in something more comfortable."

Amanda gave him a teasing look. "As long as you don't mind my watching."

A snort from the kitchen area made both of them grin. "You'd better take that up with Mac." Methos took his clothing selection into the bathroom, much to Amanda's disappointment.

Duncan handed Amanda a glass of wine. "And to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit? I thought you were in Toronto for awhile."

Amanda shrugged. "No reason in particular. Nick's busy and I was bored, and I wanted to hear all about the honeymoon, so I just hopped on a plane and here I am." She smiled at him brightly and Duncan frowned.

"Are you in trouble?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "I don't only come to see you when I'm in trouble."

"Sorry," Duncan said apologetically. "We're glad to see you."

"Speak for yourself," Methos retorted, emerging from the bathroom.

Amanda straightened on the couch and stared at him. "What in hell is _that_?"

Methos looked down at the over-sized shirt and drawstring pants he was wearing, then looked at her in irritation. "What?"

"Those...those clothes! They're...well, you never did have much taste in clothing, but at least what you wore looked decent!   You might as well hang a sign around your neck saying 'pregnant man looking for home in a secret lab'. "

Methos glared over at Duncan. "I told you this was a bad idea."

Duncan glared back. "Well, they don't exactly have maternity shops for men!"

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Men! You have _no_ idea how to be creative in matters like this."

Duncan turned his glare on her. "Like you have vast experience in this area!"

"At least I have _taste_!" she retorted, then turned her attention back to Methos and patted the couch next to her invitingly. "You just sit right here and take it easy. We'll go shopping tomorrow and I'll take care of everything."

"Except the bill," Duncan muttered.

"Don't pout."

"And how, exactly, do you plan to get a maternity wardrobe for him without announcing that he's pregnant?" Duncan asked.

"Don't worry," Amanda said, smiling at Methos in a way that made his blood go cold. "I've got a Plan."

* * *

 

"See?" Amanda said triumphantly, depositing a collection of bags on the floor. "Didn't I tell you I'd take care of everything? You owe me an apology."

"You did," Duncan admitted, setting his own bags on the bed. "And I do." He kissed her on the cheek. "I'll order in whatever you want for dinner to make it up to you."

She beamed at him and then looked over at Methos who had collapsed on the couch with a groan. "You owe me, too."

Methos opened one eye and glared at her. "Sorry but I'm suffering a bit too much at the moment. Perhaps when I've recovered from the mysterious illness and debilitating treatments that are going to puff me up like a balloon, maybe _then_ I'll have the necessary energy. If I don't strangle you first."

"Oh, come on!" Amanda protested. "You've got to admit it worked!"

"I'll never be able to set foot in that shop again," Methos said mournfully.

"You never went in there before," Duncan pointed out, callously switching sides, much to Methos' indignation. "Amanda, it was brilliant."

"Of course," she said, preening. "And now that they have Adam's measurements, all you have to do is let them know the new waist size and voila! They won't even expect him to come back in for fittings."

"Well, _that_ at least is good news," Methos grumbled. "You actually expect me to wear those tunic things? I'll look ridiculous."

Duncan and Amanda exchanged an amused look. "You'll look wonderful," Duncan said, leaning over the couch to brush a kiss over Methos' lips. "Just think how much more comfortable you'll be." Methos gave him a baleful look, not willing to admit any such thing. Duncan leaned further down, to murmur in his ear, "And the way you'll look in that green silk one..." He nipped Methos' earlobe playfully.

Amanda cleared her throat pointedly and Duncan straightened up, but his eyes promised that they'd explore that subject more fully later. When they were alone.

Methos found his mouth curving up into a smile, and he was almost ready to forget that Amanda had somehow conned one of the most respected designers in Paris to create a new wardrobe for him. Almost.

After all, it wouldn't do for anyone to suspect that he was going soft. With a devious light in his eyes, he settled more comfortably on the couch and began plotting a suitable revenge...


	45. Chapter 45

"You know, if we'd taken your bike, we'd already be at Joe's," Methos complained as he and Richie walked along the sidewalk on an evening in early August.

Walked because Methos' car was in a repair shop three hundred miles away, because Duncan had left his car at the airport, and because Methos had been too impatient to wait for a taxi. In fact, "impatient and irritable" seemed to be the perfect words to describe Methos' moods during the past four days while Richie had been "Methos-sitting". They explained why Amanda had called Richie up a few days earlier, demanding that he take a shift guarding the ornery Immortal before she took his head herself.

The first two days hadn't been so bad. They had run down to Les Tardes so Methos could check out the plumbing refit on the house and sign off on the completed electrical work. Richie had been dubious at first, being stuck in the country for several days being low on his list of fun, but he'd loved the place at first sight. Even Methos' sarcastic remarks about no hot tub parties with the local babes hadn't dampened Richie's enthusiasm. And when Methos told him to pick one of the rooms in the guest wing as his own...Well, if Richie hadn't been a grown man, he might have started bawling at the idea that they _expected_ him to consider this his home.

Things started to go down hill around the middle of the third day. Duncan had called while they were at Les Tardes to say he'd probably be delayed in Seacouver for another couple days and that hadn't set well with Methos, although he'd let Duncan off with only one sarcastic quip. But after he'd disconnected, Methos wandered out onto the terrace and sat for an hour, brooding. Richie had taken a look out at him but the sight of Methos curled up on the low wall with one hand absently stroking his abdomen had seemed intensely private, and he'd gone back to investigating the house.

When Methos had come back inside, he'd snapped and growled at everyone for the better part of the afternoon till the contractors were glad to see him leave. Richie wasn't so thankful; he was going to be stuck in the car with Methos for three hours. And then when the vehicle's axle had unexpectedly separated, landing them in a ditch waiting for a tow truck from Poitiers, Richie had silently consigned the rest of the week to hell. Learning that there were no seats left on the TGV back to Paris so they'd have to take the slower train had seemed inevitable.

Methos had alternating between sulking and sniping at him during the three hour trip back and the entire next day, even refusing to be entertained by the translation work he'd begun for his new job. Richie had taken to hiding out on the upper deck of the barge, leaving the irritable Immortal to his own devices.  He wondered whether this constituted a medical emergency he could toss into Julian's lap. After all, wasn't a five-month-pregnant person supposed to glow or something? Sit dreaming about the future with a blissful smile on their face as they knitted booties? Although the image of Methos like that made Richie shudder even more than the idea  of having to watch him eat another meal like last night. He shuddered again; eel and pineapple still didn't seem compatible pizza toppings.

So when Methos suddenly emerged from the depths of the barge, dressed in something other than Duncan's old bathrobe, and suggesting they go to Joe's for a drink, Richie readily agreed. He should have known Methos' resignation to walking instead of taking the bike was too good to be true.

"That's right. And we would have had enough time for one last drink before Mac _killed_ us," Richie said caustically.

"At least we would be _having_ that drink instead of swimming through this heat."

"It's not that hot."

"Well, _I'm_ hot!"

"Well, you're also...you know. You must be having hot flashes or something."

Methos gave him a baleful look. "That's menopause, not pregnancy. Something I am _not_ suffering from, although, knowing Mac, he'll somehow find a way to inflict _that_ on me."

Richie glared. "Has anyone mentioned that you're in a worse mood than usual?"

"Not anyone still alive."

"Now I know why Mac left. The temptation to murder you must be overwhelming."

Methos glared back. "I'm feeling tempted to commit murder myself. In fact, if I wasn't in a hurry to get to Joe's before I die of thirst..."

Richie stopped and gave Methos an appraising look. "Mac called, didn't he?"

Methos sighed. "He's at the club. He expected we'd be there at this time on a Friday night, so he went there directly from the airport."

"You really missed him these past two weeks, didn't you?" Richie asked, grinning.

Methos refused to look at Richie, glaring at the ground as he muttered, "He was only supposed to be gone a week."

"So the whole thing took a little longer than he expected, so what? The good news is he's back, right?" Methos muttered something Richie didn't understand although he had a suspicion it was an obscenity - probably in Mesopotamian.

Methos suddenly stiffened and looked around warily, and Richie felt the Presence a moment later. "Could be Mac, coming to meet us," he ventured.

Methos shook his head. "Whoever it is, he's behind us."

Richie gestured toward an alleyway. "Down this way. We'll be at the club before he can catch up with us."

The two Immortals hurried down the darkened side street, only to draw up short two blocks later at the feeling of Presence ahead.

"Shit," Methos muttered.

"I take it that's not Mac, either," Richie said, unsheathing his sword and moving into a defensive position. Methos slid his hand into his pocket, grasping his gun, and waited for their opponents to make a move.

From the shadows ahead of them, a tall, bulky man stepped forward into the dim light of the alley. "Which of you is Duncan MacLeod?"

Richie almost visibly relaxed, but Methos' eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"

"I asked you first."

"Look, you got the wrong guys," Richie said, putting on his most congenial face. "Neither of us is MacLeod and we're not looking for a fight, so what d'you say we just call this a night."

The man frowned. "These are the wrong ones, Peter."

The Immortal behind them came into the light, and Methos and Richie shifted sideways so they could keep an eye on both men. This one seemed to be a younger Immortal, and he shook his head. "They're friends of MacLeod's.  That one's _married_ to him. I've been watching them hang around his place on the river for the past day and I'll bet they're gonna meet up with him."

"He left town," Methos told their first opponent. "If your student here has been watching us, he knows that as well."

Rudy Waterman narrowed his eyes as he looked at his student. "Is he right?"

Peter Kinsey curled his lip. "He's a fucking faggot, Rudy. I wouldn't believe him."

"Hey, watch who you're calling names!" Richie snapped, raising his sword a little higher.

"Relax, Rich," Methos said calmly. "I've been called names before, and much more creative ones than our mentally-challenged friend here could think up."

"Yeah, you just keep out of this, pretty boy," Kinsey sneered at Richie. "Is MacLeod doin' you, too? Does he give 'special lessons' to all his students?"

"Watch who you're calling pretty," Richie growled and shifted on his feet, ready to move into attack position if necessary. The older Immortal seemed okay, but the younger one - his student, more than likely - seemed to have a hair-trigger. And he definitely didn't like Methos.

"Peter, enough," Waterman said sharply. He looked at Richie and then at Methos. "MacLeod. Where can I find him?"

"I told you; he's out of town," Methos said. "Are you and Mac old friends? He will be _so_ disappointed to have missed you, but I'll be sure to tell him you called."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you."

Methos shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint."

"So am I." Waterman suddenly turned, pulled out a gun, and shot Richie in the right shoulder. The force of the impact knocked him to the ground. Methos started towards his fallen friend but Kinsey took out a gun and motioned for him to stay back.

"Shit!" Richie ground out between clenched teeth, struggling to sit up despite the sick feeling in his stomach. He clamped his left hand over the wound, right arm dangling uselessly where the bullet had shattered bone, and glared at Waterman. "What  was that for?"

"Get MacLeod," Waterman said. "Tell him to meet me here now or we'll kill your friend."

Richie's eyes widened. "Let him go. I'll stay with you; Adam can get Mac."

"But I expect MacLeod will come quicker once he knows we're holding his lover," Waterman said. "Time's ticking, kid. Better hurry."

Methos' eyes met his. "Go. Get Mac."

"Yeah, pretty boy," Kinsey taunted. "Go get Daddy."

"Adam..." Richie protested weakly. He could feel his flesh slowly healing but the blood loss made him dizzy as he climbed to his feet.

"Go!"

Richie staggered off in the direction of the club as quickly as he could. Methos watched him for a moment, then turned to assess his opponents. Waterman was the more experienced of the two, and probably the better fighter, but there was something... _off_ about Kinsey. Methos' wariness ratcheted up again as Kinsey moved toward him and he caught Waterman's frown.

"Leave him alone, Peter."

"I want this one, Rudy," Kinsey said. "You said I could have the next one you didn't want."

Methos stepped back, raising his hands. "I don't want to fight you."

Waterman sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you? The young ones aren't worth the time and trouble. Concentrate on ones who can give you a sizable Quickening. This kid is barely past pre-Immortal."

Kinsey moved closer to Methos, forcing him back against the wall. "Oh, but I want to play with him, Rudy." He traced Methos' jaw with the muzzle of his gun. "I bet he plays real pretty, don't you, queer-boy? Of course, it's different standing up instead of lying on your belly."

"Stop it, Peter," Waterman said sharply.

"No."

Before Methos could react, Kinsey turned and shot Waterman straight through the heart. Waterman fell to the ground, dead in an instant. Methos took advantage of the moment to shove Kinsey to the ground, causing Kinsey to drop his gun. He reached into his pocket for his own gun, only to freeze at the feel of the cold steel of a sword against his skin.

"One move - just one - and I put this right through your throat."

Methos stood absolutely still as Kinsey slowly got to his feet. "Why'd you shoot your friend? Afraid he'd interfere in your fun?"

"Pompous bastard." Kinsey didn't even spare a look at his fallen teacher. "Always telling me what to do."

"Yes, well, I can see where that would get annoying," Methos said dryly.

"Shut up, fag,  and draw your sword. But first..."

Kinsey leaned closer, reaching into Methos' coat pocket and pulling out the gun. He tossed it aside and stepped back enough to allow Methos to draw his sword.

Methos sighed and hoped for a tingle announcing Immortal presence, the arrival of the cavalry. Duncan was going to be so pissed...His mouth tightened. Well, he hadn't asked for the fight and he didn't _want_ it, but he hadn't lived for five thousand years by hiding behind others.

Instead, he attacked with an aggressive barrage designed to drive back his opponent, to demoralize him. That tactic alone had been known to send more than one opponent fleeing, but Kinsey was too determined - or too stupid - to take a hint. He parried Methos' strokes and attacked in turn, and Methos moved back out of distance for the moment.

Methos could already tell this wasn't going to be an easy fight. On a good day he could have taken the kid's head inside of five minutes, but this was definitely not a good day. His body didn't respond the way he was used to, his center of balance was completely off, and the extra ten pounds he was carrying felt like a lead belt. He managed to fend off Kinsey's blows but not without cost.  A retreat that was just a fraction too slow let Kinsey score a deep gash across his left thigh. Methos swore and retreated even more, feeling the enervating trickle of blood running down his leg. Kinsey was sporting several similar gashes by now but he was healing normally and Methos wasn't.

Kinsey followed up with a strike toward his chest. Methos parried and, expecting the disengage, started to retreat. But his injured leg wobbled under him, and Kinsey's redoublement was aimed to sever his right arm. He was able to deflect the worst of the blow, but felt the bite of the blade as it scored deeply along his shoulder.

Swearing, he switched his sword to his left hand. He wouldn't last much longer like this, so he went on the offensive, forcing Kinsey to parry a flurry of brief, ineffective attacks. It didn't take long for the young Immortal's frustration to reach a boil, and that's when Methos relaxed his guard. As he expected, Kinsey rushed forward with an attack, and Methos put most of his remaining strength into a sweeping stroke that knocked the sword out of the little weasel's hand and drove him to his knees. The young Immortal looked up at him, terror replacing his earlier sneer, but Methos didn't hesitate.

He raised his sword in both hands, ignoring the searing pain in his right shoulder. "There can be only one."

"Methos!"

The eyes turned up to his widened slightly, either in amazement or horror, and Methos managed a grim little smile before he brought the sword down. Methos turned towards the Presence hurtling toward him.

"What took you so long?" he asked - and then the world went dark as he pitched down onto Kinsey's dead body.

* * *

Richie stumbled down the steps of the club, ignoring the shriek from one of the patrons at the sight of his blood.  He hoped it would be put down to a mugging gone wrong. Presence sang nearby but he couldn't focus enough to locate it, although he heard Joe's cry of "Richie!" as he collapsed.

Joe was closer but Duncan got there first, catching Richie before he hit the floor. "Richie, what happened?" Duncan demanded.

"Two of them," Richie gasped, clutching Duncan's jacket tight to keep from losing consciousness. "Alley.   Adam...hurry..."

Duncan's head snapped up.  He met Joe's eyes,  the horror in his own reflected back.

"Go," Joe said, easing Richie down on the floor. "I'll take care of Richie, and I'll call Dr. Julian just in case."

Duncan nodded and raced into the alley, his heart in his throat. The clash of swords led him in the right direction, reassuring him that he wasn't too late. He pulled his katana and came upon the scene in time to see Methos raise his sword above his head. One Immortal was on his knees before Methos; another lay dead but with head intact just a few feet away from Duncan.

"Methos!" he called out, horrified at the sight of his lover about to take a Quickening, even as he thanked God that he'd won the fight. He saw Methos pause infinitesimally before bringing the sword down, piercing his opponent through the chest and practically pinning him to the pavement. Duncan couldn't help closing his eyes briefly in relief.

Methos turned towards him, looking paler than usual except for the blood running down his right arm and leg. He wobbled on his legs for a moment, said, "What took you so long?" and then collapsed in a heap on top of his opponent.

Duncan was at his side in an instant, lifting him off the corpse. A frantic check showed that Methos was alive, although his pulse seemed erratic. An alarming amount of blood was pouring out of Methos' shoulder and Duncan quickly stripped off his shirt, making a pad of it and pressing it against the wound, trying to slow down the bleeding till help could arrive.

"Holy shit."

Richie and Joe stood near the first body. Duncan felt a pang of relief that Richie was okay and smiled at him tightly. "Do me a favor and keep an eye on those guys."

"This one's not going anywhere," Richie said, gesturing at the younger Immortal, still pinned by Methos' sword, "but I think his teacher over here is starting to come around."

"Put him back down," Duncan ordered. "If you need a knife, I'm sure Methos has several."

Richie nodded, then he used a large military-style knife from Waterman's body to stake him down for the time being. He gestured towards Kinsey. "What about this asshole?"

"What about him?" Duncan said absently, binding the pad in place on Methos' shoulder and checking the leg wound. It didn't look as bad although it was bleeding sluggishly. He glanced at the slightly distended belly, not even wanting to think what this little episode might have cost them. "Joe, did you get hold of Julian?"

"He's on his way."

"Well, other than the fact that the guy is a certified jerk, he tried to _kill_ Methos," Richie said, returning to the subject of the dead Immortals. "Waterman over there was just interested in finding you, but this guy, Kinsey, he wanted Methos in the worst way."

Duncan frowned. "He knew who he was?" He remembered that he'd shouted Methos' name as he ran down the alley, but he thought he'd seen surprise on the downed Immortal's face.

"Nah. He wanted him because he's a homophobic creep," Richie said in disgust. "You wouldn't believe the shit he was saying."

Duncan felt his jaw tighten but he didn't have time to think about that right now. A new sense of Presence made him tense, then he recognized the man striding down the alley .

"What happened?" Julian asked, dropping to his knee beside them, his eyes running professionally over Methos' body.

"He took a Challenge," Duncan said tersely, "and won."

"Quickening?" Duncan shook his head, and Julian breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's something." Julian took Methos' pulse and checked his other vital signs. "He's lost a lot of blood." He didn't touch the pad on Methos' shoulder; the blood slowly seeping through it told enough of a story. "We need to get him some place private where I can treat him."

Duncan lifted Methos into his arms. "My barge. Your car?"

"At the end of the alley." Julian turned to lead the way.

"Mac, what about these guys?" Richie asked, gesturing at the two dead Immortals.

"Take care of them," Duncan ordered over his shoulder. "And Richie - be careful."

Richie gave Duncan a disbelieving look as he disappeared. " 'Be careful?' What kinda advice is that?"

"Pretty damn good, if you ask me," Joe said dryly. "These guys already shot you once."

"Yeah.  Ruined a perfectly good jacket, too," Richie said, fingering the hole in the shoulder of his leather jacket.

"You gonna take their heads?"

Richie hesitated; he knew Duncan wouldn't approve if he just took Kinsey's head now, even though Methos had defeated him. On the other hand, he knew these guys wouldn't give up if he just walked away and left them.

He pulled Methos' sword from Kinsey's body, wiping the blade clean before handing it to Joe. His own sword lay where he'd dropped it when shot; he picked it up and settled in to wait.

Before too long, Kinsey stirred, groaned, and rolled over on his side. He looked up at Richie, obviously surprised to be alive.

"He didn't take my head."

Richie's lip curled. "I guess he didn't want scum like you rolling around inside him."

Kinsey grimaced. "And you're going to finish it for him?"

"Unless you think you can take me." Richie went on guard and waited.

Kinsey pushed himself to his feet, then bent over to retrieve his sword. "Was he really...that guy called him 'Methos'."

Richie's eyes narrowed; if this guy knew Methos' secret, he would have to die. "Tell you what: you beat me and you can ask him."

"I'll just do that," Kinsey snarled. "No, I've got a better idea. I'll just kill that sick fuck and find out for myself." He appeared to be over his earlier shakiness and any sympathy Richie might have felt for him vanished.

"Your friend might have other plans," Richie said, raising his sword and circling warily.

Kinsey sneered. "Yeah, well, maybe I'll take _his_ head when I'm done taking yours. Bastard never lets me get the good ones."

"Maybe that's because he knows what a complete loser you are."

Kinsey rushed at him, and Richie met the swinging blade with his own. A few exchanges into the fight, he acknowledged that Kinsey was good even though he had to be tired from his earlier fight and death. But Kinsey was also sloppy, relying on strength and speed instead of skill.  Richie took a moment to bless Duncan for putting him through those drills, and then he went on the offensive.  Three cuts later, it was all over.

"Shit, I _hate_ that," Richie muttered as he knelt in the alley and waited for the Quickening energy to settle enough inside to let him move.

"Not to rush you, pal," a familiar voice said to him, "but I hear sirens and there's still this other guy to worry about."

Richie groaned and forced himself to his feet, staggering over to where Waterman lay. The Immortal was still dead and Richie was loathe to just take his head as he lay there, not to mention he didn't have enough time or energy to deal with what would probably be a powerful Quickening. Thinking quickly, he pulled the knife out of Waterman's body and dipped it in Kinsey's blood. Then he wiped off his own prints and jammed the knife into Waterman's hand. With any luck, the guy would come around just as the police arrived and they would think he'd killed Kinsey. If not...well, they'd just have to deal with that later. Right now, they had to get out of there before the police arrived. And then they had to find out how Methos was doing.

 

* * *

 

"How's he doing?" Duncan asked anxiously, trying to drive while peering into the mirror to see what was happening in the back of Julian's station wagon.

"He'll be doing a lot better if you manage to get us back to your place in one piece," Julian snapped, not even looking up from his work. A bag of Ringers Lactate was already suspended from one of the specialized hooks in the ceiling, and he was attempting to start a unit of blood in the other canula he'd inserted in Methos' arm - a task made difficult by the swaying of the car as Duncan took corners rapidly. Blood was still seeping out from under the impromptu bandage on his shoulder, and that would be his next priority once he was certain he was getting more fluids than he was losing.

Methos was still unconscious and Julian didn't know whether to be grateful or not. On the one hand, a conscious and injured Methos was a royal pain in the ass. On the other, a conscious Methos would have been greatly reassuring.

"We're there," Duncan said tightly, bringing the car to a gentle stop.

"Good," Julian said. It'd be better to get Methos settled before he took a look at that wound. "You think you can carry him inside?"

Duncan nodded, the tight look on his face saying he'd carry Methos across France if he had to, and he got out of the car to open the tailgate. Julian carefully set the IV bags on Methos' chest, then grabbed his equipment and followed Duncan into the barge.

Julian looked around quickly, trying to determine the best place to set Methos without doing a lot of damage. "Give me a moment to put a plastic sheet on the bed covers - "

"The hell with the damn covers," Duncan said roughly, carrying Methos up to the bed. "I'll replace them.  Hell, I'll replace the entire bed if I have to." He set Methos down carefully, wincing as the bags slid off Methos' chest.

"It's all right," Julian said, gently moving Duncan out of the way so he could check the lines. Everything was still in place; he glanced up at the headboard to see if there was something to attach the bags to, and smothered a grin at the sight of hooks imbedded in the wall. This certainly wasn't the time to tease MacLeod about his sexual habits. Carefully, he hung the bags from the hooks, making sure the tubing wasn't crimped and that the fluids were flowing.

Duncan was hovering underfoot and Julian decided he'd better give him something to do;  there was no chance he'd just wait on deck.

"Any medical experience?" he asked.

Duncan nodded, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. "Medical corps."

"Good; I'll need an assistant." Julian set his medical bag on the bed. "Boil water, lots of it. These will need to be sterilized," he said, setting a few instruments on the covers. "I wouldn't usually worry about infection with an Immortal but in this case, the less he has to deal with during recovery, the better."

Duncan nodded and hurried off to the kitchen. Once he had some water boiled and more heating, he returned to the bed where Julian had almost finished cutting the ruined clothing off Methos' body. The pants were gone, revealing a sluggishly bleeding cut across the left thigh, and now Julian was cutting away the shirt. Duncan realized with a pang that it was the green silk tunic-shirt, the one he had loved to see and feel on his lover's body, and knew Methos had deliberately put it on before heading to the club to meet him. He swallowed hard as he silently cursed himself. If he hadn't made that damn trip to Seacouver, if he hadn't taken so long making arrangements for the dojo, if he'd come straight to the barge instead of going to Joe's...

"If you're going to fall apart on me, you'll have to go up on deck," Julian said crisply, his voice jarring Duncan out of his thoughts. Duncan jerked his head up, meeting Julian's eyes. He saw sympathy there but above all concern for Julian's patient and friend.

Duncan nodded. "I'll be all right."

"Good. Those instruments should be ready. Grab a pair of gloves from my bag; I'll need your help."

Duncan pulled on the surgical gloves, finding them a tight fit on his larger hands, and went to retrieve the sterilized instruments. Julian finished cleaning and bandaging the shallow wound on the thigh and prepared to tackle the more serious shoulder wound. He glanced up at Duncan with his hand on the cloth pad.

"This is likely to be ugly.  You aren't a fainter, are you?"

"No," Duncan said stoically. "And I've seen my share of battle wounds."

"It can be a completely different thing when it's someone you love. If you start feeling dizzy, look away or sit down. The last thing I need is two patients on my hands."

Duncan nodded.

"Right. This isn't the best layout for this kind of work, but if you crawl up on the other side of the bed - careful! don't jiggle him if you don't have to! - you can pass me the instruments."

Duncan took his place, trying not to stare at the pale, still face. Methos was still breathing and that _had_ to be a good sign.

Julian deftly peeled off the makeshift bandage, trying not to tear the slowly healing flesh any more than he had to. Quickly, he stripped away the remnants of the shirt and wiped down Methos' skin to get a good look.

"It could have been a lot worse. He must have deflected the blow otherwise it could have taken off his arm. The deltoid took the brunt of the damage but it doesn't look like he severed the Cephalic vein, or it's already healing."

Duncan swallowed against sudden nausea at the sight of the gaping cut, now bleeding sluggishly. "What do you plan to do?"

"Get the area cleaned as much as possible and stitch it closed to facilitate his own healing process. I'll probably strap his arm to his body for the time being, to keep him from moving it and tearing open the healing tissue."

Julian worked as he talked, swabbing away the blood so he could align the torn tissue properly. Duncan threaded several needles with suture as instructed, then watched, fascinated, as Julian neatly set a series of small knots along the torn flesh to close up the wound. Julian's movements were deft, reminding Duncan of the time he'd seen Methos treating Joe, and he could swear he saw similarities in movement.

"What is it, MacLeod?"

Duncan looked up to see Julian looking at him curiously, as he waited for Duncan to finish threading the needle in his hand. Duncan flushed and handed it to the doctor, then prepared the next one. "Just...you remind me of the time I saw Methos treat Joe for a bullet wound."

"Methos would tell you he taught me everything I know about medicine. And he'd be mostly right."

"I thought you were a doctor when you met."

Julian nodded. "In Rome. But by that time Methos had traveled most of the known world. He'd studied with mystics in Tibet, with physicians in Egypt and Greece and India and China, with the druids in Britain. He had a lot to teach, and I had a lot to learn. We spent two centuries doing just that."

Duncan squashed down a surge of jealousy at the idea of someone else being with Methos for so long. "I never pictured Methos as a doctor. He doesn't seem to have much of a bedside manner."

Julian gave him an amused side-look. "Don't let him fool you with that caustic exterior. Underneath it...well, all right, he's sarcastic right to the core, but he cares a lot about mortals."

He looked back at his work, tying off another stitch and picking up the next needle. "I hear he told you about the Horsemen." Duncan nodded, silently pressing his lips together. "I'm surprised. It took him the better part of two hundred years to tell me about them."

Duncan looked at him in surprise. "But..."

"And the next day he was gone. Disappeared in the middle of the night, and it was almost another hundred years before I found him again." He gave Duncan another quick look. "I think he couldn't face disappointing me."

"Did he?" Duncan asked quietly, preparing another needle.

Julian shrugged. "Don't all our teachers disappoint us when we find out they're only human after all?"

"Methos isn't my teacher."

Julian gave him a quizzical look. "Isn't he?" He set another stitch. "There - that should do it. Hand me the betadine and open some of that gauze." He cleaned the wound and dressed it. "Now comes the tricky part.  We need to bind his upper arm to his side so he doesn't move it. I'll need you to hold him while I do this."

Duncan braced Methos against his own body while Julian strapped a bandage around the arm and chest. Then they shifted Methos over to the clean side of the bed and slid him under the covers. Duncan pulled off the ruined bedspread, balled it up, and threw it in the corner.

"What now?" he asked Julian.

"Now we wait," Julian said simply, settling into a chair next to the bed.

"But...he'll be all right, won't he?" Duncan settled next to Methos' good side, picking up the lax hand and holding it. It felt cooler than usual, and all the terror he'd felt in the alley came flooding back. He'd come close to losing Methos - too damn close.

Julian looked at Duncan seriously. "Of course...eventually. He's Immortal, after all, and he'll heal. But he lost a hell of a lot of blood and that's going to take a lot out of him. His healing process is already slow, and add that to the fact that his body is currently devoted to maintaining those babies at all costs, and you can see it's going to be a while before he's back on his feet."

"Doc - the babies?"

"They're fine, beautiful little parasites that they are. I listened earlier and they're both steady as a rock." He gave Duncan a stern look. "But this can't go on, MacLeod. He was lucky tonight."

"I know," Duncan said with a sigh. "We're going to move as soon as the place is ready..."

"Make it ready," Julian said baldly. "Living rough for a little while won't hurt the old man, but fending off challengers _will_."

Duncan nodded and swallowed hard again. "All right. As soon as we can move him." He found that he was absently rubbing Methos' hand with his thumb and gently set the hand back down on the covers.

Julian stretched, then grimaced when he caught sight of his hands. "Mind if I borrow your facilities to wash up?" he asked.

Duncan gestured towards the bathroom. "Help yourself. Need anything to change into?"

Julian glanced downward, then shook his head. "I seem to have avoided most of the gore. You might want to consider..."

Duncan nodded; he'd shed his coat and shirt to take care of Methos but his undershirt was dry and stiff with blood. "When you get through."

He heard Julian close the door behind him and, for the first time that evening, he surrendered to the agony he'd felt since Richie stumbled into the club, bleeding. He curled forward, his forehead resting on the bed next to Methos' hand, hot tears running down his cheeks to dampen the sheet.

"I'm sorry," he muttered hoarsely. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for: leaving Methos, not getting to the alley faster, being 'Duncan MacLeod, Immortal Magnet', for getting Methos into this predicament to begin with. "I'm so damn sorry."

There was no reply from the still figure beside him, no words of absolution or forgiveness. Nothing but silence.


	46. Chapter 46

Richie burst through the door of the barge and heard Julian snap, "Quiet, if you please!" as Duncan hurried toward him.

"Richie," Duncan said, pulling him into a tight hug. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Richie said, impatiently. "Just a scratch. Methos - is he okay?"

Duncan's face shadowed. "Unconscious. Julian stopped the bleeding and he's administering fluids but...we just have to wait."

"Wait for _what_ , for chrissakes! He's not going to _die,_ is he? I mean, knocked up or not, he _is_ Immortal, isn't he?" Richie looked up towards the bed, visibly restraining himself from going to check for himself. "And what about the _babies_? Oh, God - he didn't lose them, did he?"

"Richie," Duncan said, grasping him by the shoulders. "The babies are fine. Julian says they're doing great; Methos isn't going to lose them. He's lost a lot of blood and suffered a serious injury. It'll take a while to heal but he's going to be okay."

"Then why isn't he awake and pissin' everyone off, huh?" Richie demanded, pushing away from Duncan. "If he's so 'okay', then why is he still out of it, and why is Dr. Fremont hovering over him, and why do you look like hell?"

"Because I'm afraid," Duncan admitted, slumping down on the couch.

"Yeah," Richie said, sitting down next to him. "Me, too. And mad as hell." He glanced over at Duncan and then down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Mac. I had no idea they were watching us or I would have _insisted_ on taking a taxi."

"You couldn't have known,. I'm just grateful you both came out of it alive."

"So who were those creeps?" Richie asked. "Did you know them?"

"Never met them."

"Waterman and Kinsey," Joe said behind them, and they turned to see him standing quietly in the doorway.

"The two Immortals we intercepted at the hotel after the wedding?" Julian asked.

Joe nodded as he sat on the couch. "The very same. Guess they didn't find what they were looking for in Italy."

"You _guess_?" Duncan asked, irritated. "Don't you have Watchers on those two?"

Joe gave him an irritated look in return. "You gotta complaint, Mac? Perhaps you'd like to handle Watcher assignments?"

Duncan sighed. "Sorry, Joe. I'm just..." His voice trailed off as his eyes lifted towards the bed where the still figure lay.

"I know," Joe said gently. "I heard what you said to Richie.  That on the level? Methos is really okay and the babies are fine?" Duncan nodded. "Thank god," Joe said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Not that I doubted it for a minute. Methos is a tough old bird." Joe moved closer and laid the sword he was carrying on the table. "We figured he'd want this."

Duncan nodded and leaned forward, running his hand over the hilt of his father's claymore. "What happened?" he asked Richie.

"Before or after Methos' fight?"

"Both. Start at the beginning."

Richie sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was starting to feel the effects of his long day and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a cold beer. "We were walking to Joe's when we felt someone behind us, so we ducked down the alley to lose him. Only they'd been watching us and knew where we were going, so the other guy was waiting. He asked for you.  Methos said you were out of town, but the guy didn't believe him. So he shot me and sent me to get you."

Duncan nodded. "How did the other one end up fighting Methos?"

Richie snorted. "He was acting like a first-class asshole - Kinsey, not Methos." Duncan's lips twitched at that. "It's not funny, Mac," Richie snapped. "The guy seemed to have it in for Methos just because you two are together."

"Immortals aren't immune to bigotry and homophobia," Duncan said. He got up, taking Methos' sword, and returned it to its scabbard.

"Whatever," Richie said with a shrug. "You don't have to worry about that creep."

Duncan stiffened. "You didn't...not while he was..."

"Hell, no, Mac!" Richie retorted. "You taught me better. I waited till he revived, gave him a chance to change his tune. He was still a waste of oxygen. I challenged him and won. End of story." He looked at Duncan. "We couldn't let him walk away: he knew who Adam really was."

Duncan closed his eyes, chagrinned that he'd called out Methos' name as he ran towards him, then his eyes snapped open and he turned to look at Joe anxiously.

"Relax, Mac; we didn't have Watchers on those two: too dangerous. Waterman makes most of his money hiring on as a mercenary in private little wars between drug lords, when he's not hunting other Immortals. And Richie's Watcher lost them when they ducked down the alley until Richie's fight was nearly over.."

"Good," Duncan said, relieved. He looked over at Richie, seeing how disheveled and tired he was. "Richie, I'm sorry. What am I thinking? Why don't you get a shower? I've got some spare clothes of yours here, and I'll fix you something to eat, all right?"

Richie gave him a tired grin. "It's a deal." He paused on his way to the bathroom, leaning on the frame. "Mac? Methos told me...that is... he asked me to pick out a room of my own at your new place."

Duncan nodded, understanding what Richie was asking. "He meant it, and so do I."

Richie nodded, flushing slightly. "Thanks." He disappeared into the bathroom, and Joe gave Duncan a questioning look.

"You planning on running a half-way house for Immortals? How many rooms does this town of yours have?"

"It's a _hamlet_ , and there's plenty of room. You and Richie will have your own rooms, and there's plenty of space for the whole clan. We'll be expecting all of you at Christmas." He glanced up at Julian, sitting beside Methos. "All of you."

Julian smiled faintly and inclined his head, then turned his attention to replacing the drip bag, the last Ringers Lactate he had with him. He'd already gone through both of the units of blood he'd brought but he didn't think he'd need more. All he could do now was wait for Methos'  body to heal enough for him to wake up.

Duncan went to the refrigerator and opened it, studying the contents with combined horror and amusement. Containers of leftover Chinese food, a pizza box, a half-empty carton of chocolate milk, and various soft drinks had replaced the nutritious foods and juices he'd stocked the fridge with before leaving. He rubbed his forehead, trying to get his weary mind to suggest something to cook for his guests.

"Mac," Joe said kindly. "Sit down before you fall down. I've already ordered some food to be delivered."

Duncan gave Joe a grateful look and, snagging one of the sodas, collapsed into a chair. Even for an Immortal, it had been a long day. He'd been awake since the previous morning in Seacouver, going from the lawyers' offices to the airport, and hadn't slept on the plane or during the layover in Toronto. The terror of seeing Methos in combat and then wounded had pumped adrenaline into his body, but it was wearing off and Duncan was exhausted. All he wanted to do was collapse in bed, wrapped around his lover's healing body, which didn't look like was going to happen anytime soon.

"What about Waterman?" he asked. "Richie didn't take him, too?"

Joe shook his head. "Didn't have time. He pulled out the knife and left it with him. With any luck, the police will think Waterman and Kinsey had a falling-out and he'll spend some time cooling his heels."

Duncan looked skeptical.

"Hey, it could happen. I asked Richie's Watcher to keep an eye on him for now." Joe gave Duncan a look. "You know, this would be a great time for a vacation in the country, right?"

Duncan nodded. "Julian already chewed me out, Joe, so don't you start. As soon as Methos can be moved, we'll head there, even if we live out of suitcases and sleep on the floor."

Richie came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair, and said, "At least the electricity's working and the plumbing should be done in the main section by the end of the week. Water heater was shot to hell, but the guy suggested separate ones for each area anyways, and the copper pipes are in great shape. And the well pump was operational by the time we left." He saw the astonishment on Duncan and Joe's faces. "What?"

Joe grinned. "Just the shock of hearing you talk like that about anything other than motorcycles."

Richie rolled his eyes. "I just spent three _days_ at the place, following Methos around while he talked to contractors. It's just possible I learned something, okay?"

Joe snorted. "Just what we need - the kid getting a 'special lesson' in gutter French."

"Please," Richie said, disgusted. "I learned those words _years_ ago."

Duncan smothered a grin. "Well, I'll need all the help I can get if I'm going to get the place in any kind of shape before winter." He stretched, not noticing the look Joe and Richie exchanged. "I'm going to get a shower before the food arrives."

As the bathroom door closed behind him, Joe said, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Way ahead of you," Richie said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing as he headed towards the deck, just to make sure Duncan didn't overhear him. "Connor? Richie. Listen, are you really busy right now? 'Cause we've got a little situation..."

Julian chuckled as he stood up and stretched. "MacLeod won't know what hit him. I need to run back to the clinic and pick up a few supplies. Could you keep an eye on Methos till MacLeod gets out of the shower?"

Joe nodded, pushing himself to his feet and making his way to the bed. "What do I need to do?"

"Just watch him, make sure that he doesn't pull out his IV line," Julian instructed. "He's past the worst of it and could come around any time, and I know he'll want to do something idiotic like get up. Just try to keep him in bed and get some fluids down him, and call me." Julian packed up his case, checking his watch. "Even if I don't hear from you or MacLeod, I'll be back in a couple hours to check on him. All right?"

Joe nodded, taking Julian's seat beside the bed. Julian gripped his shoulder in thanks before leaving Joe alone with the unconscious Immortal.

Joe covered Methos' lax hand with his own and sighed. "You've given us a hell of a scare, buddy," he said heavily. "It sure would make me feel better if you'd open your eyes and say something." There was no answer, not that he expected any, and he settled back in his chair to watch and wait.

 

* * *

 

Duncan poked listlessly at the food on his plate. It was one of Maurice's signature dishes but his appetite was non-existent. Joe seemed to be having the same problem, although Richie wasn't noticeably affected as he'd polished off his dinner and was working on dessert. Duncan sighed and lifted another forkful to his mouth.

The sudden tingle of Immortal presence made him stiffen and drop his fork to his plate. He set it on the coffee table and reached for his sword just as Amanda stormed in the door.

"Where is he?" she demanded. "I'm going to kill him, I swear it!"

Duncan grabbed Amanda by the shoulders. "Where's who?"

"That bastard you married, that's who!" Amanda said furiously. "Not only did he put me through a week of _sheer hell_ while I was guarding him for you,- he even managed to top that!"

She jerked away from Duncan, glaring at him. "Do you know where I've been for the past two days? No? Well, I'll tell you! I've been trying to escape from a loony bin masquerading as an exclusive spa and retreat! At least that's what the _invitation_ said." She flung an engraved square of cardboard at him. "I thought it'd be the _perfect_ way to recoup my energy after dealing with His Royal Pain-in-the-Ass - mineral baths, massage therapy, facials - but it was a _trap_."

His eyes widened. "Methos wouldn't..."

"Oh, yes, he would! This has his nasty little fingerprints all over it!" She abruptly sank down on the couch as she wailed. "They wanted to shave off my hair, Duncan! And those horrible orange _things_ they wear!"

"You mean it was a spiritual retreat?" Duncan asked. Amanda looked up at him suspiciously; his voice sounded odd, like he was choking on something.

"Isn't that what I've been _saying_?" she said in exasperation. "Although how being bald and badly dressed could _possibly_ enhance one's spiritual awareness is beyond me."

Joe burst out laughing and Richie was writhing in hysterics as he fell off the couch. Even Duncan was grinning by now.

Amanda glared at him as she got up and stalked over to him. "Don't you _dare_ laugh, Duncan MacLeod!" she snapped, poking him in the chest with her finger. "And don't try to stop me from taking Methos apart.  Where is he?"

That question sobered Duncan immediately, and he gestured towards the bed. "There, but...Amanda, he took a Challenge this evening."

Amanda's eyes widened and her face turned the color of the parchment card she'd thrown at him. "And you _let_ him?" she gasped, smacking him in the chest. "Of all the idiotic - "

"It wasn't his fault," Richie offered. "I was with Methos. _I_ was supposed to protect him..." He broke off as she whirled on him, eyes flashing angrily. He'd never considered Amanda a serious threat but now, with her face pale and tight and  eyes blazing, he was suddenly terrified of her.

"It wasn't Richie's fault, either," Duncan said quickly, stepping between the two of them. "There were two Hunters, and they shot Richie first. Methos is alive, Amanda; he's going to be all right."

Color crept back into her face, and the fury in her eyes eased back to annoyance as she glared at Richie and said, tartly, "Well, that was pretty stupid, getting yourself shot!"

"You think maybe I planned it?" Richie snapped, starting to get angry himself. "And come to think of it, it's _your_ fault. You're the one Mac asked to look after Methos!"

Amanda looked almost abashed, color now flooding her cheeks. "Well, he was driving me crazy. Nothing I did pleased him - books, movies, music, even the dinner I had catered in - nothing! And when I suggested we go shopping, I thought he was going to take my head."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Shit, Amanda, even _I_ could see he was missing Mac and pissed as hell about it! I'm amazed that someone with your _vast_ experience didn't figure that out!"

"Well, excuse me for being too shallow to notice, but after a week my nerves were shot to hell and my thinking just a bit short-circuited!"

"He was driving me crazy, too, but I didn't just walk out on him!" Richie retorted.

"I didn't - "

They were interrupted by a voice floating down from the bed. "If you are quite finished blaming each other, would you mind terribly shutting the hell up?"

The voice was weak, but the irritated tones were unmistakable. Four people rushed the steps leading to the bed, Duncan beating out the others only due to greater motivation. Methos was propped up on his good elbow, and as they converged, he allowed himself to drop back onto the bed with a groan.

Duncan was at his side in an instant, unable to resist taking Methos' hand in his. His skin still felt clammy to the touch, although not nearly as bad as it had been, and Methos' coloring was still been off but the spark was back in his eyes. Duncan found himself grinning like an idiot and could hardly restrain his urge to kiss Methos back into unconsciousness.

"Joe, call Julian and let him know."

"Already on it," Joe said, cell phone out.

"Are you thirsty?" Duncan asked Methos anxiously. "Richie, grab him something to drink from the fridge."

"Richard." The young Immortal paused as Methos called his name, glancing over at him and then away. "Are you all right?"

Richie turned and looked at him, stunned and a little angry. "You're lying there, injured, because I couldn't take care of you, and you're asking how _I_ feel?"

"If I thought it was your fault, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Methos paused, summoning energy. "You did what you had to."

Richie shook his head. "I left you..."

"You did what you had to, got out of there and brought help," Methos said firmly. "No offense, but Waterman would have been too much for you to handle."

Richie flushed and nodded. "Thanks. I, uh, that other guy won't be bothering you again."

A faint smile touched Methos' mouth. "I appreciate that. Tough fight?"

Richie shrugged. "I've had worse." He glanced over at Duncan, then back at Methos. "Tell you more about it later, if you'd like."

Methos nodded, a faint smile on his face. "When Mac's not here to fuss over either of us."

Richie's grin broke out. "Know what you mean, man." Duncan glared at both of them, even though he was secretly amused by the interaction between the two. Richie jerked his head towards the fridge. "I'll get you that drink."

"Beer?" Methos asked, hopefully.

"No!" four voices said in chorus, and Methos managed a small grin before his eyes started to close again.

"Methos?" Duncan asked, anxiously.

"I'm all right," he murmured. "Just tired."

"Methos?"

Methos opened his eyes as Amanda hesitantly said his name, turned his head towards the stairs where she was hovering. Her eyes were troubled and filled with guilt and defiance as well. He was reminded of a letter from Rebecca, telling him of an incident with her young student, caught doing something wrong and acting both defiant and regretful at the same time.

He let her see amusement in his eyes as he said, lightly, "Enjoy your stay at the spa?"

Guilt forgotten, Amanda stomped forward. "It _was_ you! Didn't I tell you, Duncan? I _knew_ it!"

"The way you were yelling, half of Paris knows," Duncan murmured.

"If you weren't in that bed already, I swear I'd run you through myself!" she said angrily, then paled and dropped onto the bed, tears glistening in her eyelashes. "Oh, Methos! I'm so sorry.  I never should have left.  Are you all right?" Her hand hovered over his face, as if longing to touch and reassure herself but afraid to intrude.

Methos gently freed his hand from Duncan's and reached up to take her hand. "I'm too bloody-minded to die."

"I'll say," she retorted, wiping tears with the back of her free hand. "You're impossible." She looked over at Duncan. "Did he tell you what he did with the dinner I had catered in? Dumped it over the side of the barge _including_ the china. I had to pay a fortune in damages." She gave Duncan a mischievous look. "Good thing I have your credit card number memorized."

"I'm canceling that card." Duncan gave Methos a quizzical look. "What was wrong with the dinner?"

"Other than being overpriced and badly presented? If the chef had been here, I'd have thrown _him_ overboard as well."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "It was from the most _exclusive_ new restaurant in town. Do you know how hard it was to get them to even _cater_ here? And all I got from you was ingratitude. How Duncan puts up with you is beyond me."

"I'm a saint, didn't you know?" Duncan quipped. "Just waiting for official notice from the Vatican."

"Let me know when you do," Methos teased. "I'd love to worship at your shrine."

"Well, it's not fair," Amanda said with a pout. "At least Duncan gets side-benefits from having to put up with your temper."

Methos grinned. "What, the kissing-and-making-up?"

"I was thinking more of the fact that he gets laid," Amanda said frankly.

Methos gave a shout of laughter. "Well, I'd offer you the same privileges, only I think Mac would object."

"Oh, you naughty boy!" Amanda laughed, whapping him lightly in the chest. Her fingers drifted over to the bandage on his arm, hovering over it, and then retreated as she clutched her hand in a fist. She drew in a shuddering breath.

Methos took her hand in his again, uncurling her fist and kissing the palm. "I'm all right, Amanda," he said quietly. "And it wasn't your fault, either."

She bit her lip but met his eyes with ones that were more than slightly watery, then nodded and smiled. "Thanks," she said softly. She leaned over to brush a kiss over Methos' cheek, breathing, "Be well soon," in his ear, then straightened and reached over to grasp Duncan's hand briefly. "Take care of him, Duncan."

He nodded. "Count on it." He noticed that Methos' eyes were drifting shut again and said, softly, "Go back to sleep, Methos. We'll be here when you wake up."

Methos made a sound of amused disbelief, and Duncan could almost hear him asking sarcastically if they had nothing better to do than watch him sleep. He grinned and tucked the covers around Methos, then brushed the hair off his forehead.

Softly, Joe said, "You look exhausted, Mac." Duncan looked up in surprise; he hadn't heard Joe come up behind him. "Why don't you get some sleep? Richie and I will keep watch."

"Sounds like a perfect idea," Amanda said, standing up and smoothing her clothes. "Richie? Would you be a dear and walk me out to my car? Silly me; I left my sword out there and with all these dangerous Immortals running around..." She shivered delicately, but her eyes were hard as nails and the look she and Richie exchanged said that they'd talk more outside.

Duncan didn't notice a thing, too exhausted to do more than toe off his shoes and crawl into bed on the other side of Methos. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

Julian arrived an hour later, and Duncan couldn't decide if he was better or worse off for the short nap. He sent Joe and Richie home, then settled down on the other side of the bed as Julian started checking Methos over.

"I want to get up," was, predictably, the first thing Methos said.

"Fine," Julian agreed. "Tomorrow we'll move you to the couch for a few hours. Till then, you're staying right where you are."

Methos glared at him. "I'm _not_ an invalid! And I'm not - " Anything else he might have said was cut off as Julian popped a thermometer in his open mouth, so Methos had to settle for threatening looks. Julian didn't seem impressed.

"How's he doing?" Duncan asked.

"Better, although it'll be a few days before he's back on his feet completely," Julian said, taking his pulse. "Pulse and blood pressure are almost normal." He took out the thermometer. "Temperature's a little high, but that's not uncommon." He removed the dressing from the wound and studied it. "The injury is healing nicely, if slowly. There's redness around the stitches. I don't think it's an infection, but a course of antibiotics might not be a bad idea."

"I don't need - "

"You'll take the antibiotics or I'll put you in five-point restraint and administer them to you through an IV," Julian said warningly.

Methos gave Duncan a sideways glance. "He's almost as kinky as you, Mac." Duncan's face said he was _not_ amused.

"I'm not kidding, Methos," Julian said sternly. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Methos said mockingly.

"Watch it or I'll swat you, injured or not."

Methos rolled his eyes. "What is this obsession you and Joe have with swatting me?"

"I'd say it's an impulse most people have after knowing you any length of time." Julian finished changing the dressing on the shoulder wound. "Do I need to strap this arm down again, or are you going to behave?"

Methos sighed. "I'll behave."

"Good." Julian stripped back the covers, taking a look at the thigh wound before bandaging it again. Then he carefully felt around the abdominal area, pulled out his stethoscope and listened intently for a moment.

"Sounds good," Julian said, "but before you leave town, I want you in my office for a full scan, just to make sure."

"I'm leaving town?"

Julian and Duncan traded looks, then Duncan sighed. "Waterman's in jail for now but he may be released, you're recuperating, and we meant to move to Holy Ground anyway..."

"Fine."

"...and," Duncan paused. "Fine?"

Methos gave Duncan one of his tolerant looks. "What makes you think I want to be anywhere near Paris in August? And since I'm injured and ordered by my doctor to take it easy, _you_ get to do all the moving chores."

"I can handle that," Duncan said, glad that Methos was being reasonable, then paused. "You _do_ remember that things are pretty primitive at the house?"

Methos' look of amusement deepened. "Mac, I've _lived_ primitive for centuries."

"Yes, but I've also heard you say you prefer modern conveniences."

"'Prefer' and 'can't live without' are two vastly different things. I'll be fine."

"How soon were you planning on leaving?" Julian asked.

"How soon _can_ he leave?"

Julian considered. "A good night's rest tonight, taking it easy tomorrow with a visit to the clinic that evening...I wouldn't have a problem with you leaving the day after that. That would make it Saturday."

Duncan considered. "With two vehicles to get down there..." He paused. "Wait a minute. Where's your car?"

Methos' face darkened. "Getting to know the mechanics in Poitiers."

"Well, that solves the problem of getting both cars down there." Duncan looked around the barge. "I'll pack what we need immediately, and we can order in anything else we need."

"Like a bed?" Methos said with a smirk.

Duncan grinned at him. "We'll need more than that but a bed's top priority."

"Not until Methos is healed," Julian warned.

Methos made a face at him, then turned back to Duncan. "We can use my old bed till we have a place to put the real furniture.  It'd make a good guest bed, too."

Duncan nodded. "Good point. I'll get Richie to help me get it out of storage tomorrow. Anything else there you need to begin with?"

Methos considered. "Not much.  Oh, we can take my kitchen stuff instead of buying new. I'll make a list."

He started to get out of bed but Julian stopped him.  "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get my laptop. I've got an inventory of my things in storage on it and I need - "

Julian pushed Methos back down on the bed and gave him an exasperated look. "What you need is to have your head examined. You're recovering from a _serious injury_ , not a little bump. Just what were you thinking, fighting like that?"

" _He_ challenged _me_!"

"And don't tell me you didn't have a gun in your pocket, along with the rest of that arsenal you carry," Julian said sharply. "Why didn't you just _shoot_ him?"

Methos flushed. "I didn't have a chance. He took away my gun."

"You mean a kid like Kinsey got the drop on you?" Julian said in disbelief.

"I'm not in my best fighting condition," Methos said defensively. "Besides, I won."

"Bully for you," Julian said tartly. "Next time, shoot the buggers dead _before_ they get a chance to do anything and ask questions later."

Duncan's eyes narrowed, remembering Methos' stance as he desperately raced towards the fighters. "Were you planning to take his Quickening?"  Methos' flush deepened and he looked away. Duncan sat down on the bed and took his hand. "Methos?" Methos muttered something. "I couldn't hear that."

Methos sighed and said, "Not unless absolutely necessary. I thought you or Richie would come back and finish the job."

"And if we hadn't?" Methos looked away again. "I don't believe you!" Duncan snapped, too tired to watch what he was saying. "Surely you wouldn't do something so stupid, risking your life, not to mention the babies! But then, you didn't want them to begin with."

Methos' head snapped up, and for a moment there was a look of surprised disbelief and deep hurt in his eyes. Before Duncan could abjectly apologize for even thinking such a thing, he saw the mask slam down over Methos' face, hiding all emotions except anger.

"Damn you to hell, Duncan MacLeod!" he snarled. "If you think I'd _deliberately_ try to get rid of _our_ babies at the first opportunity..." He threw back the covers, struggling to get up, and Julian moved to restrain him. "Let me _go_ , dammit!"

"Not after I spent a couple hours putting you back together," Julian said firmly.

"Sod off. I can take care of myself."

"Right. You showed us that today, didn't you?" Duncan snapped.

"Why don't you just put me on a bloody lead," Methos said, his voice ice-cold with anger. "Wouldn't that be easier? Better still, a cage; a large version of a hamster habitats would be perfect, don't you think? Be sure to include one of those little wheels so I can get all that damned exercise you're always going on about."

Duncan gritted his teeth together; he hated that particular snotty tone of voice with a passion. "I'm not trying to make you into a pet!" He drew a deep breath, trying to calm his anger, and reached out towards Methos, but the other man bared his teeth at him.

"Careful! I bite and it's doubtful that I'm housebroken."

"Do you have to be such a pain in the ass all the time?" Duncan exploded.

"Of course. It's in my job description. But that should be easy for a _saint_ to handle."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "It was a joke! You even laughed and said - "

"I know damn well what I said, and I must have been delirious."

Duncan glared. "I have a perfect right to be angry. You damn near got yourself killed!"

"I'm Immortal, in case you hadn't noticed."

"You are, but _they're_ not!" Duncan shouted, pointing at Methos' abdomen.

"Of course!  It's always the damn brats!"

"Don't you _dare_ throw it in my face that I'm worried about them! Of course I am! I've never wanted anything so badly in my life. But if we're going to talk about _brats_ \- "

"Don't you _even_ go there!" Methos warned, his eyes glittering at Duncan. "I haven't even _begun_ , but if you want me to, I can throw a wobbly that'll make your head spin!"

"And that would prove just what, exactly? That you can't be trusted to cross the _road_ on your own?"

"And trusting me would be a novel thing for you to try, wouldn't it?"

Duncan caught his breath, stunned that Methos would think he didn't trust him. "I trust you," he said, reaching his hand toward Methos.

"Don't _touch_ me," Methos snapped, pulling back as far as he could get from Duncan without falling out of the bed. "I'm not that easy."

Duncan drew back his hand, hurt by the accusation. "I didn't think you were.  I just... Methos, I trust you. Surely you know that?"

Methos' eyes glittered. "Obviously not if you think I would risk our children like that. _Our_ children. Yes, I hated the _idea_ of them. Yes, I'm terrified to see a body I've known for five thousand years changing like this. No, I wouldn't have chosen this if I had been given a bloody choice. But I _don't_ have a choice and - dammit, Mac, I've felt them _move_!"

Duncan's eyes widened. "When?"

Methos looked away. "A few days ago. After you called to say you'd be delayed again. I was pissed, _they_ got pissed, started kicking..."

Duncan couldn't help smiling. "Typical. You really are an irritating man, you know that?"

Methos frowned but a corner of his mouth couldn't help pulling up into a reluctant hint of a smile. "And you're a pain-in-the-ass, over-protective, sheep - "

" _Don't_ start in on the sheep. I have _much_ better taste than that."

Methos snorted. "Oh, like you're going to get any for at least the next month."

Duncan caught Methos' hand and pressed a kiss against his palm. "That soon? Feeling generous, aren't you? Or just horny?"

Methos' lips twitched slightly, then he turned his hand over and cupped Duncan's cheek. He noticed that Duncan was looking a little gray instead of his usual healthy color and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Remorse smote him. "Sorry, Mac," he said softly. "I really didn't mean to worry you."

"Worry? You scared the life out of me," Duncan admitted, covering Methos' hand with his own. "Look, I _do_ trust you. I know you can take care of yourself. That doesn't stop me from wanting to take care of you, though. I love you. You know that, don't you?"

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Methos' mouth. "I noticed." His fingers traced Duncan's mouth, a little unsteadily from fatigue and emotion. "I love you, too."

"If you two are quite finished," Julian said dryly. Both men looked around, startled. They'd completely forgotten that the doctor was still there. "I think you can finish the rest of this discussion in the _morning_ , gentlemen," he said firmly. "Both of you look like you're about to collapse any minute. And _no_ sex tonight. You can save the kiss-and-make-up routine for later."

Duncan gave him a chagrined look while Methos stuck out his tongue, making Julian chuckle and shake his head. Duncan escorted Julian to the door, confirming the time for their office visit the next day. He locked up the barge, turned off the lights, and returned to the bed.

Methos had already settled in, curled up on his good side and looking like he was half-asleep. "Methos?" Duncan asked tentatively, not sure if Methos was still angry with him or not.

"Come to bed, Mac. I won't make you sleep on the couch tonight." Methos turned to give him an amused look. "My feet are cold."

"Your damn feet are _always_ cold," Duncan grumbled, but he readily stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed behind Methos with a contented sigh. Methos scooted back a little, and Duncan carefully spooned up behind him and slid his arm around Methos' body. He pressed his nose against the nape of Methos' neck, breathing in the scent of sleep-warmed Methos. This was what he'd missed most while he was away, even more than the sex: just sleeping wrapped around his lover. The overlaying antiseptic scent only made him more aware of how much he had nearly lost, and he involuntarily tightened his hold.

"Missed you, too," Methos murmured, and Duncan thought he could hear a smile in his voice. He pressed a kiss against Methos' neck.

"Methos?"

"Hmm?"

"If you ever scare me like that again, I swear I'll take Julian's advice and swat you silly."

Methos laughed. "Promises, promises."

Duncan grinned and kissed Methos' neck again, then tucked his face against Methos' back and closed his eyes. He was nearly asleep when he heard Methos murmur something. "Hmm?"

"I was lying," Methos repeated softly. "If I could go back...If I was given the choice, knowing what I know, I'd choose to have them."

That woke Duncan up. He pushed up on his elbow so he could see Methos' face. He had shifted onto his back and was looking up, and Duncan searched his face in the scant light. There was no sign that Methos was teasing or saying what he thought Duncan wanted to hear.

Duncan felt a tight spot inside him, one he hadn't even been aware of, suddenly ease. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

"Yeah."

Duncan leaned down to kiss Methos, and if the kiss was a little more intense than their doctor might have approved of, well, Julian wasn't there and what he didn't know...

Duncan broke the kiss, aware that Methos was too exhausted and hurt to take this any further, and pressed a last soft kiss on Methos' mouth. "Sleep."

"That's what I was trying to do," Methos grumbled, turning back on his side. Duncan spooned up behind Methos again while his hand gently stroked the swollen abdomen. There was no sign of movement, but Methos made a soft, contented sound like a purr and drifted into sleep. Duncan wasn't far behind him.


	47. Chapter 47

The quay was submerged in darkness, lit only in small pockets by the occasional street lamp, but Duncan could still make out Methos' distinctive form walking briskly along the bank as he made his way back to the barge. Duncan paused in his workout on the upper deck, admiring the graceful way his spouse moved, even with the extra weight he was carrying so obviously now. Duncan grinned and picked up a towel, drying his face and draping it around his neck as he headed down to meet Methos.

His eyes caught movement in the darkness even before he felt the warning alarm of Immortal presence. "Methos! Behind you!" he shouted as he sprinted towards them. The oldest Immortal was spinning, one hand reaching into his pocket for his gun while the other hand pulled his sword free, but the sudden movement had obviously thrown him off balance. Methos was falling, falling, and Duncan was too far away. He'd never reach him before the attacker's blade, gleaming in the lamplight, did.

Duncan heard Methos scream, saw his body slump lifelessly on the ground as his sword clattered beside him. He saw the attacker lift his blade for the final blow. He moved with nearly impossible speed, pulling his katana free as he jumped between Methos and the other Immortal to intercept the strike. The attacker fell back under the force of Duncan's blows, desperately parrying, but to no avail. The sword was knocked from the Immortal's hand as he was driven to his knees; Duncan placed his sword along the bare neck, ready to administer the final blow.

"MacLeod."

Duncan paused, looking in the direction of the voice. Julian Fremont was kneeling beside Methos on the quay, gore up to his elbows, and the look he gave Duncan made his heart go cold.

"Methos?"

"He's dead and not coming back."

"But - that's impossible!" Even from here, Duncan could see that Methos' head was still attached to his body. "He's got to live.  He's still got his head."

Julian was shaking his head. "He can't live without his heart, and it's been cut right out of his body." His hands moved, lifting something impossibly small from the gaping wound in the corpse's abdomen. He looked up at Duncan, a heart-broken but resolute look on his face.

"I have to do this, MacLeod. It's not fair to let them live like this forever."

"No!" Duncan cried out, even as the scalpel moved, tearing his world apart with the finality of that slashing movement. His breath caught on a sob and Duncan threw back his head, howling his grief to the heavens.

A movement nearby reminded him that the cause of his pain was still alive, and he turned back to the Immortal Hunter still kneeling before him. In a fit of furious rage, he swung his katana, severing the head from its body.

The head rolled along the quay, coming to a stop right before him. And, as the first jolt of Quickening reached him, he looked down into his own eyes...

 

* * *

 

Duncan jerked upright in bed, gasping for breath and shaking. _Safe_ , his frantic mind told him. He was safe, Methos was safe, the babies were safe. It was only a dream.

There was a soft sound from the bed beside him and he turned to look at his sleeping partner. His heart caught in his throat at the terrifyingly familiar sight of Methos stretched out beside him, apparently lifeless...but no. Even in the dim light he could see Methos' chest rising and falling slowly. _Just asleep, just asleep_ , he whispered to himself. Not dead, not unconscious, just a deep, healing sleep.

He rolled on his side and studied his sleeping spouse. There was a slight frown on Methos' face, a puckering of the lines around the eyes, that spoke of lingering pain. The healing shoulder, Duncan thought, and how long would that injury take to heal? Days instead of hours, as Julian had warned them at the start. If Methos had died... He shuddered as he remembered Dream-Julian's look as he raised the scalpel...

He shuddered again and felt Methos shift uneasily on the bed, as if Duncan's restlessness was being transmitted to him. Duncan placed a hand on his chest and was relieved when Methos sank back down into a deep sleep.

Duncan couldn't sleep, though. Jet lag, residual adrenaline rush, remnants of the nightmare...whatever it was, he was too restless to stay in one place. He slipped carefully out of bed, pulled on his robe, and went up on deck.

The quay was submerged in darkness, lit only in small pockets by the occasional street lamp. For a moment, the nightmare surged back with terrifying clarity. He could almost swear he saw Methos walking along the bank. He closed his eyes tightly, willing away the image. The quay was empty, Methos was sleeping in their bed, the love of his life was safe, _safe_...

Duncan slumped on the deck, pressing his forehead against his knees, and drew in a ragged, shaking breath. This was insane.  It was a _nightmare_ , for God's sake! Just the fevered imaginings of his twisted, guilty mind. It wasn't real, it wasn't a premonition, it wasn't _true_. He drew in another breath, trying to center himself, but his control had never been so fragile. _Maybe I need more than mental exercise_ , he thought.

Duncan stood up, settling into one of his favorite katas, and began going through the familiar movements. For a few minutes, his jangling nerves settled and he caught the tranquility brought on by the rhythmic motions. But then the dream-image of going through these same movements made him falter, losing his place as his mind's eye saw a steel blade flashing downward.

He stumbled, twisting his ankle as he fell, and he sat for a long moment as he cursed under his breath and held his foot. He was too tired for such exertions, that was all. Meditation, then; it had been a while since he'd seriously meditated.  He settled down and opened his mind...except that feeling of inner peace seemed to evade him, no matter how hard he reached for it.

Duncan let out an explosive breath and opened his eyes. All right, meditation wasn't working. Maybe he should just quit trying to forget the blasted nightmare and look at it rationally and objectively. He shifted into a comfortable position on the deck and took another deep breath. The dream had been about Methos dying, about being unable to protect him - well, that was self-explanatory, wasn't it? After his partner's near-brush with death, it was only logical that he'd be obsessing about it, feeling guilty because he hadn't been there to prevent it. _Brooding_ , Methos would say.

The nature of the fatal wound...Duncan swallowed hard, acknowledging that in his dream, he'd been the one attacking Methos. He had been the one who had cut out Methos' heart. The symbolism wasn't lost on him. What he had said to Methos...Even now, he couldn't believe he'd actually said that, had accused Methos of wanting to get rid of the babies. His breath caught on a held-back sob of pain and remorse, and he wished he could take back the angry words spoken impulsively in his fear. He wrapped his arms around his belly, feeling sick that he had hurt Methos so badly. In his mind, he saw over and over the shocked, deeply wounded look in his lover's eyes. He shuddered, deciding he was lucky Methos hadn't gutted him with a dull knife.

He was lucky, period. The Immortal he had been infatuated with since their first meeting was sleeping in his bed, alive and, if not in perfect condition, well. In four months, he was going to be a father, something he had given up hoping for. He should be deliriously happy, he should be thanking God on his knees, he should..

He should be curled up in a warm bed next to his husband, relishing his good fortune instead of sitting up here in the dark, brooding.

Duncan grinned and got to his feet. He went back inside, locking up behind him, and quietly made his way back to the bed. Methos was curled up in a tight ball as if for warmth, muttering something under his breath. Duncan shed his robe and carefully slipped into the bed, snuggling up against Methos' long back and wrapping his arms around the thickening waist. He closed his eyes and, with a contented sigh, let himself drop back into the arms of sleep.

 

* * *

 

_The quay was submerged in darkness, lit only in small pockets by the occasional street lamp, but Duncan could still make out Methos' distinctive form walking briskly along the bank as he made his way back to the barge..._

 

* * *

 

Methos forced open one bleary eye, observed that the barge had been pillaged during the night, and pulled the pillow over his head.

"Good morning, Methos!"

The voice was too cheerful to be real, and Methos pithily directed its owner to go to hell. Laughter greeted his words as his shielding pillow was cruelly confiscated.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead."

Perhaps the apparition hadn't heard him correctly the first time. Methos concisely told the misguided creature what he thought about rising, then threatened to stick a lamp up its arse where _it_ could shine. Then he pulled the sheet up over his head and went back to sleep.

This time the covers were ruthlessly stripped away, along with the rest of the pillows.

"Maaaaaaac!"

Duncan bundled the dirty sheets and pillowcases in his arms as he headed back down the steps. "Breakfast in five minutes. Don't get out of bed, I'll bring you a tray."

Methos scowled and muttered under his breath as he forced himself to sit up, then shivered in the chill morning air. It was a bit too cool to be sitting around in just his boxers. "You might have at least left me a blanket," he called after Duncan. "I'm freezing my arse off."

Methos glanced around the room in search of a blanket, although at the moment it was difficult to identify anything. Every surface was cluttered with _stuff_ \- clothing, books, papers - and half-filled boxes littered the floor.

"I hope you caught whoever broke in here and ransacked the place."

"Not to worry, it was me," Duncan called from the kitchen.

"Mac, how many times do I have to tell you: pillage the _other_ guy's home, not yours."

Duncan came back up with a blanket and a bottle of medicine. "Ooops?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "You do know how stupid this is, waking me up to give me something that's going to put me back to sleep."

"Humor me," Duncan said, shaking out the tablets. "We've got a busy day, and I've got a lot of packing to do."

Methos swallowed the pills. "You're a fast worker, or you've been up half the night." His eyes assessed his lover, noting the shadows under his eyes. "I'd guess the latter, so the question is why?"

Duncan shrugged, heading back down the steps. "Couldn't sleep. Must be jet lag or something. You, on the other hand, slept like the dead. And snored like a buzz saw."

"I don't snore. And I'm not an invalid. I'm perfectly capable of coming down for breakfast. You, on the other hand, look like you should go back to bed."

Methos stood up. And then promptly sat back down again. The barge was doing funny things under his feet and someone had replaced his legs with rubber while he was sleeping.

"I told you not to get out of bed," Duncan said, exasperated, as he came back up in time to see this performance.

Methos glared at Duncan. "Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason?"

"Did it ever occur to you to ask for help?" Duncan set the tray on the bedside table and moved to Methos' good side, carefully easing him to his feet. The room still spun but the strong arm wrapped around him kept Methos on his feet. Once in the bathroom, he glared at the Scot.

"I can manage this part on my own.  Out."

"And have you crack open your head on the toilet? There is no way I'm explaining _that_ to Julian." Duncan stood behind to brace him. "It's not like I've never seen you take a piss before."

Methos closed his eyes and counted to ten. In Sumerian. "I'm _not_ an invalid, MacLeod."

"Wrong. That's exactly what you are so you just better get used to it."

"Get _used_ to it?" Methos fumed. "How in bloody hell am I supposed to do that? It's not like this has ever happened to me! It's not supposed to take _days_ for me to heal!" He wobbled slightly on his feet and Duncan steadied him.

"Have hysterics later. Right now, finish your business and get back in bed."

"But I want a shower," Methos protested. "And I'm not having hysterics - yet."

Duncan said, "A shower? With those stitches? Not on your life! You've been a doctor; you know you're not supposed to get them wet."

"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaac."

"If you're a good boy, I'll give you a bed bath later."

Methos turned his head to give Duncan a Look. "You have _got_ to be kidding!"

Duncan grinned and leaned closer to murmur into Methos' ear. "Ah, but I give very _special_ bed-baths, with a lot of extra touches."

Methos felt a shiver of arousal move through his body. The feel of Duncan's body against his after their long abstinence was bad enough, but the images Duncan's words invoked made him suddenly, achingly hard.

"Thanks a _lot_ , Mac. How do you expect me to piss _now_?"

Duncan just laughed. Methos grumbled but finally relaxed enough to relieve himself. Duncan allowed him a brief wash at the sink and then chivvied him back to bed. He settled Methos in bed with a warm blanket and then placed the breakfast tray across his lap.

Methos made a grimace of disgust at the food on the tray. His stomach was rebelling in a way it hadn't in months. "Mac, I can't eat this."

Duncan frowned, surveying the tray laden with eggs Benedict, toast, sausages, fruit and juice. It was the same sort of thing Methos had been eating regularly for the past few weeks. "What's wrong? Want something different? I could make an omelet, if you'd prefer, or crepes."

Methos turned green and Duncan shoved away the tray and scooped Methos out of the bed. They made it to the bathroom just in time for Methos to lose what little remained in his stomach. Knowing that Methos hated him to hover around while he was throwing up, Duncan wrapped a large bath towel around Methos and returned to the bedroom. He stripped off the blanket and bottom sheet, now soiled with juice and breakfast remains, dumping them with the other bed linen in the kitchen to take care of later. He remade the bed with fresh sheets, topping it off with a comforter, and went back into the bathroom to see if Methos had convinced his stomach to remain in his body.

Duncan found Methos leaning shakily against the sink, trying to hold himself up with his good arm while he washed his face with the other. "Let me help," Duncan murmured, once more propping Methos against his body. Methos washed his face and brushed his teeth, and this time he didn't complain as Duncan helped him back to bed.

"Well, that was a lovely way to start the morning," Methos grumbled, curling up on his good side with a pillow clutched to his stomach. Duncan settled behind him, gently rubbing his back in the same comforting way he had done during the early, queasy months. Methos sighed contentedly, relaxing under the treatment.

"Better?" Duncan asked softly.

"Mmm," Methos murmured sleepily.

"Go back to sleep," Duncan said, still softly. "We'll try this again later."

Methos mumbled, "Come to bed, too?"

"In a little bit. I've got things to do."

Methos opened a bleary eye. "Bollocks. You need sleep. Why were you up all night?"

Duncan said soothingly, "I'm okay. It doesn't matter now, just go to sleep."

Methos struggled for a moment to stay awake and discuss this, but the effort was too much for his tired body and Duncan's backrub was too soothing.

Duncan smiled as he brushed the hair out of Methos' eyes. Methos looked so peaceful and he would have loved nothing more than to curl up with him and go back to sleep. The few hours he'd managed between nightmares hadn't been nearly enough. But when he closed his eyes, the specter of darkness still hovered, driving him back on his feet. And there was so much to do.

Immortal presence stirred on the edges of his awareness and, reluctantly, he pulled the covers up over Methos, then went out to greet Richie and Joe.

The two men were waiting next to a small moving van. "Will this do, Mac?" Joe asked.

Duncan nodded. "It's perfect."

"So, decided to move to the country?"

"You and Julian were right. It's too dangerous to stay in town, especially if Waterman's set loose. Julian says it'll be safe to move Methos tomorrow if his exam turns out all right." Duncan opened the back of the truck and looked it over, trying to judge how much of their belongings would fit inside. "We thought it would be a good idea to take some of the stuff Methos had in his apartment.  It'll be a start on getting the household set up." He looked over at Richie. "Can you give me a hand getting the things in storage loaded?"

"Sure," Richie said, looking at his watch.

Duncan gave him an amused look. "I'm not keeping you from something, am I?"

"Of course not. I've just got to meet a - a friend. A little later this afternoon. And we're gonna be busy all night."

"A new romance, huh? Guess I shouldn't count on your help unloading at the other end."

Richie looked sheepish. "Sorry, Mac. If I'd known you needed the help, I'd have changed my plans, but..."

"Don't worry about it," Duncan said reassuringly. "This was short notice and I'm sure I can manage. The biggest problem will be keeping Methos from trying to help. Speaking of which," he said, turning to Joe. "You up for a little Immortal-sitting? I tried Amanda but she's not returning my calls."

Joe and Richie exchanged a look and the young Immortal said, "Probably robbing a jewelry store or - or something. You know Amanda."

Duncan's eyes narrowed. "Richie?"

"I can keep an eye on Methos, Mac," Joe said quickly.  "No problem. Anything I should know? How's he doing today?"

Duncan turned back to Joe, frowning. "He's sleeping now. He was up for a little bit earlier but he wasn't feeling good so he went back to bed. I hope he'll sleep for a couple more hours. You'll probably be bored out of your mind more than anything else."

"Nah, I'll welcome the quiet," Joe said. "I've got a number of business calls to make."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then." Duncan climbed up into the truck and Richie got in next to him. Joe watched them drive off, then headed inside for a round of Methos-watching.

 

* * *

 

When Methos next opened his eyes, he was aware of several things. First, it was early afternoon, judging by the light coming in through the porthole. Second, there was a delicious scent in the air, one that reminded his fickle stomach that it had been some time since his last meal. And third, there was no sense of Immortal presence in the barge, familiar or not.

"Duncan?" he murmured longingly, needing to know his lover was nearby.

"About time you woke up."

The voice wasn't Duncan's but it was familiar, and Methos peered out from the covers to see Joe setting a tray on the bedside table.       

"Hungry?" Joe asked.

Methos cautiously pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced at the tray. Some kind of broth and toast, apparently, and it smelled even better close up. "Starved. What is that?"

Joe tucked a pillow behind him and set the tray on his lap. "My mother's famous chicken soup. People in my family swear that Mother Dawson's Chicken Soup can cure anything that ails you. You get that inside and I guarantee you'll feel a hundred percent better."

Methos picked up his spoon and took a tentative taste. His taste buds approved and his stomach didn't seem inclined to revolt. "Could use a little salt."

"One word against my sainted mother's recipe and you don't get the surprise I picked up for dessert."

Methos cocked an eyebrow at him. "Chocolate?"

Joe grinned. "Close." He reached over to the bedside table and produced a brown bottle.

Methos' eyes lit up and he accepted the bottle of stout with reverent hands. "Joe Dawson, you are a prince among men. I could kiss you."

"Thanks, buddy, but I'm gonna catch enough hell from Mac when he finds out about this," Joe said dryly. "I don't need him takin' my head for poaching as well."

Methos gave Joe an amused look. "What makes you think he's going to find out? I intend to be one with this magnificent brew before he returns, and as long as you take the evidence..."

Joe chuckled and took back the bottle to divide it between two glasses. "You're a devious bastard, aren't you?"

"Was there ever any doubt?"

By the time Methos finished off the soup, the head had settled enough for them to drink the stout. Methos took his first swallow, holding it in his mouth for a long moment before letting it slide down his throat.

"Ambrosia," he said with a sigh.

Joe took a swallow, and nodded approvingly. "Not bad, all things considered."

"Not bad?" Methos said indignantly.

"Well, yeah. Making allowances for the fact that it's been awhile since you've had a taste of the real stuff."

"Not long enough."

The grim voice came from behind them. Both Joe and Methos looked up, startled, to see Duncan standing in the doorway, his arms crossed as he looked at them.

"Busted," Methos murmured, taking another swallow from his glass.

Duncan stomped up to the bed and snatched the glass from his hand. "I'll take that." He turned and glared at Joe. "Thanks a lot, Joe! You were supposed to be _watching_ him, not encouraging him to misbehave!"

"Ease up, Mac," Joe said, not in the least perturbed by Duncan's ire. "It's only the one and he's been through a rough time."

"Which is exactly why he doesn't need to be drinking _beer_!" Duncan pointed out. He sniffed at the contents of the glass. "What is this stuff?"

"Young's Oatmeal Stout," Joe said.

"Hear that, Mac?" Methos said persuasively. "Oatmeal: isn't that the national breakfast of Scotland? How could there be anything wrong with beer made from oatmeal?"

"Alcohol is alcohol," Duncan said firmly, then took a sip. "You know, this isn't bad," he said to Joe. "It has an interesting aftertaste."

"Sorta like chocolate ice cream," Joe said.

"Yeah. That's actually pretty good."

Methos crossed his arms and settled back against the pillows, sulking. "This is adding insult to injury. That's _my_ beer you're drinking."

"And I appreciate the sacrifice you're making," Duncan said, finishing it off.

"Haven't you got packing to do?"

"Finished. Well, with loading the stuff from the warehouse, at any rate." Duncan looked around at the half-packed room. "Still have to finish up in here, though. After I give you a bath."

"And that's my cue to leave," Joe said, pushing himself to his feet. He leaned over to squeeze Methos' shoulder. "You two have a safe drive tomorrow, you hear?"

Methos nodded. "Thanks, Joe."

Duncan walked the Watcher to the door. "I'll call you when we get there."

"You do that." Joe paused. "Sorry about the beer, Mac. I just thought it might cheer the Old Man up a little after..." His voice trailed off and he nodded his head toward the kitchen. "Made some chicken soup, too. There's enough left for later, if he gets hungry again."

Duncan's face lightened with relief. "You got him to eat? I appreciate that, Joe."

"No problem." He glanced up at the bed where Methos was still sulking. "Good luck with him. I think you're going to need it."

Duncan just grinned and locked up behind Joe, then went back up to the bed. Methos had rolled on his side, pointedly ignoring him, but Duncan didn't pay any attention. He went into the bathroom, filled a basin with soapy water, then grabbed an armload of towels and a sponge and went back into the main room.

"Bath time," he announced cheerfully. Methos' only response was a dual-finger salute and Duncan grinned as he set his supplies down on the table. "And here I was thinking you were looking forward to my special treatment."

"That was before you took my beer."

Duncan sat down on the bed and leaned over to plant a kiss on an exposed shoulder, then tugged down the covers. "I promise to make it up to you." He spread a towel over the sheets along Methos' back.

"I doubt it," Methos grumbled. "We're talking about _beer_."

Duncan didn't say anything, just wrung out his sponge and ran it down Methos' spine. Methos moaned and arched into the touch, and Duncan leaned forward to murmur, "Sure I can't change your mind?" He circled the sponge over Methos' back in gentle, teasing movements.

"Is this a bath or a seduction?" Methos asked breathlessly.

"Which do you like it to be?" In response, Methos shifted onto his back and reached for Duncan, but he evaded Methos. "Uh-uh; you're still recovering.  Lie back, let me do the work."

Methos groaned but let Duncan do as he wanted. With deft, careful movements, Duncan worked the sponge over Methos' neck and shoulders, then followed up with a towel. Once the skin was dry, Duncan bent over to tease Methos' neck with tongue and teeth until he was moaning and writhing. He repeated the pattern across Methos' chest, paying special attention to his sensitive nipples, then moved to Methos' legs.

By the time he stripped off the boxers, Methos was rock hard and nearly delirious from the attention paid to his sex-starved body. Duncan repeated the same pattern over Methos' groin, washing and drying before he finally took Methos' cock into his mouth. He groaned, arching up into the warm haven, and Duncan put his hands on Methos' hips to hold him in place. Methos swore at him but it was a half-hearted protest. After two weeks of abstinence, his climax was already spiraling up through him. Duncan shifted to take him even deeper and that was it. Methos gasped and shuddered, shooting down Duncan's throat, and then collapsed on the bed in a nearly senseless heap.

He was barely aware of a pair of clean boxers being tugged up his body, but Duncan's insistence that he get up made him protest.

"Shh," Duncan said, wrapping his own robe around Methos' body. "I need to change the sheets. I've got the couch all ready for you."

Methos grumbled but let Duncan guide him to the couch. He was more than willing to settle with an afghan tucked around him. Despite having only been awake for an hour, he was ready to sink back into a post-orgasmic coma.

It was only when he was nearly asleep that his fuzzy brain recalled that Duncan hadn't climaxed during their encounter. He hadn't even gotten aroused.

 

* * *

 

The barge was in darkness. Duncan looked around, weighing their readiness for the next day's move. Methos was back in bed, sound asleep, as he'd been for most of the day.

Duncan had roused him for the doctor's appointment although Methos had dozed during the short trip.  Julian's tests showed that everything was fine with Methos and the babies and the doctor didn't seem to be the least bit concerned that Methos was sleeping so much. In fact, Julian seemed much more concerned about Duncan's sleep, even going so far as to offer him a sedative. Duncan shrugged it off. There wasn't anything wrong with him and he wasn't going to drug himself because of a _nightmare_. It was only a dream, one he'd probably never have again. It was certainly nothing to worry about.

Duncan checked to make sure that the locks were secure and surveyed the boxes waiting to be transferred to the moving van in the morning: food staples, Methos' books, their clothes, a few decorative items, the laptop. All the perishable foods had been tossed or were waiting in the fridge to be packed in the ice chest  in the morning. He'd made arrangements with the utility companies, and had contacted the appropriate authorities to secure the barge. There was nothing left to do tonight.

Duncan headed for the bed, shedding his clothes on the way and placing them on a chair for packing the next day. He slid in behind Methos, checking one last time to make sure he was resting comfortably. Wrapping an arm around Methos, he tucked his head against his body and settled in for a good night's rest.

 

* * *

 

_The quay was submerged in darkness, lit only in small pockets by the occasional street lamp, but Duncan could still make out Methos' distinctive form walking briskly along the bank as he made his way back to the barge..._

 


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures of Les Tardes can be found on [Chapter Six of the Gallery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4297518/chapters/9738759)

Duncan carried the last of the boxes onto the quay and set them in the small moving truck. The back was nearly full of the contents from Methos' apartment plus most of their clothing, Methos' laptops and journals, and odds and ends from the barge. He added a large cooler containing perishables from the refrigerator, then closed and locked the back as Julian drove up.

Julian had decided to make the trip down with them, to make sure that Methos didn't experience any complications during the drive.  He also wanted to look over the house as they would need to set up a temporary delivery room since a standard hospital delivery would be out of the question and a return to Paris too dangerous. Julian had offered to drive Duncan's car down then bring the truck back to Paris the next day, and Duncan had gratefully accepted.

Duncan was glad Julian was making the trip in any case.  Methos' condition worried him. He'd been nauseated and exhausted the previous day, spending the better part of it asleep. The brief trip to the clinic for a check-up had left him shaky, with barely enough energy to crawl back into bed. Duncan didn't remember it being this bad after the "stabbing incident" with Connor. Maybe the severity of the wounds made the difference, or maybe this was because Methos' pregnancy was more advanced. Julian didn't seem overly concerned and Duncan reluctantly gave way to his greater knowledge. Still, he was glad to be getting away from Paris and would be gladder still to have Methos safe on Holy Ground, under his watchful eye.

Julian pulled his car up next to the truck and got out. "Ready?"

Duncan nodded. "Just added the last box. Now all we have to do is get Methos inside."

"How is he doing today?"

Duncan leaned back against the truck, letting Julian see the worry in his eyes. "He seemed a little better this morning, but just getting dressed wore him out. And he said he was too nauseated to eat breakfast, but he didn't eat enough yesterday to keep a bird alive. After the way he's been putting away food for the past six weeks, it scares me."

"It's all right, MacLeod," Julian said reassuringly. "A day or two isn't going to make that much difference, as long as he's getting enough liquids and his vitamin supplements. Speaking of which," he reached into his car and pulled out a large thermos. "Here."

"What is it?" Duncan asked.

Julian gave him an amused look. "Pedialyte, something I expect you'll become very familiar with. It's a rehydrating drink specially designed for sick children. It'll be a lot easier on his stomach than juice right now. And if you tell Methos what it is, I'll deny every word."

Duncan grinned. "My lips are sealed." He opened the cab of the truck and set the thermos on the seat.

Julian pulled his suitcase and medical bag out of his car and put them in Duncan's car, watching Duncan as he did. There was something off about the Scot today, a sort of nervous energy, and there were shadows under his eyes. "Are you all right, Mac?" he asked. "You don't look like you got much rest last night."

Duncan shrugged. "I never rest much before a big move; spent most of the night going over lists to make sure I didn't forget anything. I'll be fine once we get Methos out of Paris." He checked Julian's car to make sure it was locked tight. "Shall we get on the road?"

As they crossed over to the barge, Duncan looked around with a frown. He'd expected Joe to be there this morning to see them off, even if Richie was probably still in bed with his latest conquest. Although they'd seen Joe briefly the previous day, Duncan had thought he'd want to say good-bye to Methos. It would be months before Les Tardes was habitable enough for guests, and unlikely that Methos would get back to Paris anytime soon.

He sighed, then summoned up a smile as he called out, "Methos? Your carriage awaits."

Methos gave him an amused look from the couch. "About time, MacLeod. You took forever getting that last load." He looked past  Duncan to Julian, and his expression said he knew very well they'd been talking about him.

"What can I say? Hard to get good help these days."

"Which is why I put up with you." Methos stretched and pushed himself up from the couch. Duncan resisted the urge to help him, instead filling his hands with the novels and papers Methos had scattered around the coffee table, muttering about slobs. Methos just grinned as he picked up his coat and carefully pulled it on over his still-healing shoulder.

"Ignore him, Julian. Mac lives for the fun of picking up behind me. He'd be bored if I started doing it for myself."

"No, I'd just die of shock."

"While I could sit and listen to you two bicker for hours, we _were_ planning on getting there today, weren't we?" Julian said pointedly

Duncan got Methos settled into the cab of the truck with his book, papers, water bottle, thermos, pillow, and blanket. Methos rolled his eyes but refrained from ditching Duncan's "comforts" out the window. While Duncan conferred with Julian briefly about the route, Methos settled the pillow against the side window and snuggled under the blanket.

He was asleep before they reached the outskirts of Paris.

As Duncan exited the A-10 outside of Tours, he nudged Methos awake. Methos peered over the top of the blanket, bleary-eyed.

"What?"

"We're stopping for lunch in a few minutes and I thought you might want to wake up first."

Methos groaned, pushing down the blanket and stretching. "God, my mouth feels like something died in it."

"Well, I can see I'm not going to be kissing _you_ anytime soon," Duncan said dryly. "Here." He handed Methos the thermos.

Methos opened the top and peered at the orange colored liquid. "What is it?"

"Cyanide, in the handy liquid form. Would you just drink it already?"

Methos poured a cupful and took a big mouthful. Then he promptly spewed it across the dashboard. "What in hell is this?"

"Methos! Adults don't spit up stuff they don't like; they swallow and make a face. I can't take you anywhere."

Methos gave him a Look. "You don't take me anywhere now. And I _usually_ swallow."

Duncan sighed. "It isn't Oatmeal Stout, but it can't be _that_ bad."

"Yeah? You try it, then."

Duncan took the thermos cup from Methos and took a tentative sip, then gagged. "God, that's _horrible_! What was Julian thinking?"

"Obviously he wasn't," Methos said as he grabbed the water bottle. He swished out his mouth, then took a deep swallow. "Much better. What _is_ that stuff?"

"Pedialyte. Julian says they give it to kids when they're dehydrated."

Methos fixed Duncan with an irritated look. "Do I _look_ like a child to you?"

"No, you only _act_ like one." Duncan grinned over at Methos as he flipped him off. "Yeah, I'd say at the 'terrible twos' stage." Methos whapped him upside the head, and Duncan laughed so hard he nearly wrecked the truck.

He parked outside a small café, and a few minutes later Julian pulled up beside them.

Methos stalked over to the car and glared at the doctor. "That was a rotten thing you did."

Julian gave him an amused look. "And which rotten thing are you referring to?"

"I'll give you a hint: orange and tastes like you're drinking glucose." Methos crossed his arms, continuing to glare. "I am _not_ a baby."

Julian looked over at Duncan. "You squealed on me. My illusions are shattered."

Duncan held up his hands defensively. "I'm with Methos. That stuff tastes horrible."

"Just for that," Methos informed Julian ominously. "You're buying lunch." He walked past Julian into the café.

"And cleaning my windshield," Duncan added.

Julian shrugged. "Well, at least he's in better spirits."

"If it doesn't last, you're getting a passenger for the rest of the trip."

Lunch turned out to be pleasant. Methos was in a good mood, and he and Julian spent the meal recalling the last time they'd made a road trip together. Since it seemed to involve a series of misadventures, Duncan was more amused than jealous as he listened. However, he wasn't too distracted to notice that Methos did little more than toy with his meal. Duncan gave Julian a troubled look, but the doctor murmured that they'd see how Methos did when he was settled at the house.

Methos excused himself while the other two finished their coffee and dessert, claiming he was going to go back out to the truck to rest. Concerned, Duncan rushed through his coffee and hurried to the truck. Methos was stretched out on the seat, nose buried in his book, but the dashboard was conspicuously clean.

"I was going to get Julian to do that," Duncan protested.

"My mess, I clean it up," Methos reminded him, marking his place in the book with his finger while he scooted over so Duncan could get in. "Enjoy it.  I only clean up my messes once a century or so."

Duncan snorted but reached over to squeeze Methos' knee, then started up the truck.

The rest of the trip was uneventful.  Methos spent the time reading instead of sleeping, which seemed an improvement. A little over an hour after they left Tours, Duncan turned onto the private road leading to the estate. The gate was open, and Duncan realized the plumbing contractors must still be finishing up.  As he got closer to the house, he saw that several vehicles were parked off to the side. _Surely the plumber didn't need that much help_?  he thought.  Then he saw a motorcycle - a very familiar motorcycle - parked by the front door.

"Richie?" he called as he got out.

"Up here, Mac."

Duncan looked up to see his former student grinning down at him from the roof. "What are you doing up there?" he asked.

"Checking for cracks in the chimney."

"Of course," Duncan said, shaking his head. "How - why _\- ?_ "

"Because the sweep's got his hands full clearing out starling nests at the other end," Richie said, gesturing over his shoulder. "Be down in a moment."  Richie disappeared.

Duncan turned back to give Methos a questioning look as he got out of the truck.  Methos put up his hands defensively. "Don't look at me. I have no idea what he's up to. Or them, for that matter," he said, gesturing at the house.

Duncan turned back around to see Connor and his family emerging from the house. He looked over at Julian as he joined them, but Julian just shook his head with a smile. "Not my fault, either, MacLeod."

"Duncan!" Connor said cheerfully. "It took you long enough to get here. Couldn't get this lazy slug out of bed, eh?" The sharp, appraising look he gave Methos belied the insult.

Methos grinned at Connor. "It's your cousin's fault. He tried to pack everything that wasn't nailed down."

"Connor, what are you _doing_ here?" Duncan demanded.

"Richie called and hinted that you might need a hand getting this place settled. Alex is on hiatus while the dig commission sorts out funding, and Johnny's on summer holidays, so I brought them along. As for what I'm doing right now: coordinating the new security system layout with the electrician, phone people, computer technicians, and security firm."

Duncan shook his head, dazed. "How...?"

Richie reappeared, climbing down the ladder. "I snagged a copy of the plans and a list of service contractors from your desk the other night," he said. "Joe spent yesterday calling and arranging for the ones we needed first to meet us out here this morning, and we drove down here last night after picking up Connor at the airport."

"Joe's in on this, too?"

Richie jerked his head towards the house. "In there. He's being general contractor and foreman. And damn good at it, too."

"What an _incredible_ place you have here!" Alex said enthusiastically as she joined them. "I don't think I've ever seen a farmhouse with a façade of cut stone tuffeau before."

Methos visibly perked up at that, nodding as he said, "You're right. It was much more commonly used on chateaux and _maisons bourgeoises_."

Alex smiled. "I see you know your architectural styles, Adam." She linked arms with him, slowly walking back towards the house as she talked. "Did you notice the hand-cut stone coining bordering the window openings?"

"Of course, and on the corners as well. And though the handmade terracotta tiling inside the house is common for the period, the craftsmanship is incredible..."

Duncan gave Connor an appalled look as Alex and Methos disappeared into the house, their voices fading. "Connor, you should have warned Alex. Methos can talk about that stuff for hours!"

Connor grinned. "So can Alex, which is  the point. A couple of lounge chairs on the back terrace, a cooler filled with drinks, and plenty of topics to discuss should keep him out of trouble."

Julian chuckled. "A devious plan even Methos would appreciate. If you'll excuse me, I'll check in with Joe and take a look at those plans for the delivery room and nursery." Julian disappeared into the house.

"Speaking of Methos," Connor said, his voice suddenly stern. "What in hell were you thinking, letting him take a challenge like that?"

"Letting him?  I wasn't even _there_."

Richie cleared his throat to catch their attention, jerking his head in Johnny's direction as the two irate Highlanders turned to glare at him. "Uh, guys? You might want to take this somewhere a little more private."

Connor glanced at his son. "Johnny, did you finish sweeping out the master bedroom? And not just into a pile in the corner, right?"

Johnny rolled his eyes, the exasperated look of the long-suffering teen on his face. "Yes, Dad, for the third time."

"Mac, you got the keys for the truck?" Richie asked. "John and I can unload it, then he can give me a hand with the chimneys." He glanced at Johnny. "Sound good to you?"

"Sure, Rich!" Johnny said enthusiastically.

Duncan tossed the keys and Richie caught them. "Oh, and Mac? Those crates you sent from Seacouver? I put them in the training salle; figured that's where you wanted them."

Duncan nodded. "Thanks, Richie." He watched as he and Johnny headed to the truck, the teen talking a mile a minute to Richie. "You might be right about having Richie visit you for awhile. It'd be good for Johnny to have someone close to his age to talk with."

Connor nodded. "Richie's grown up quite a bit lately. So - this training area you're setting up. Mind showing it to your old teacher?"

Duncan gave him an amused look. "Why? Planning on beating the crap out of me?" he asked as he led the way to the outbuildings.

"The thought had occurred," Connor said dryly. "Although from the look of you, I imagine you're doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

Duncan's face shadowed. "Not good enough. I never should have left him."

Connor gave him a curious look. "Did you expect something like this to happen?"

"Of course not!" Duncan said explosively. "Damn it, Connor! There hadn't been any challenges in the past three months and Joe said there weren't any hunters around. I really thought he would be safe. And it's not like I left him completely alone. Amanda was with him for the first week and Richie for the second. He _should_ have been safe."

"Then you did the best you could. Shit happens." Connor walked into the workshop area and looked around appreciatively. "Nice; I haven't seen hand-tools like these in a long time."

Duncan gestured towards the back. "The salle is back here. A storeroom originally, but I cleared it out after we bought the place. No electricity out here yet, but there are windows enough to work out in daylight."

Connor gave the long, narrow room an appraising look. "Floor needs to be refinished, but otherwise there's not too much you'll need to do." He gestured towards two crates just inside the door. One was large and square, and one was longer but not as deep. "What's in there?"

"My personal equipment from the dojo," Duncan replied. He fished out keys from his pocket and unlocked the padlocks on the longer crate, then carefully lifted a shinai out of its protective wrappings. He checked the bamboo sword carefully to make sure that the four pieces were in good shape, then held it out to Connor.

One of Connor's eyebrows quirked upward questioningly. "I'm not exactly dressed for kendo," he said, indicating his work jeans.

Duncan shrugged. "Just a little practice, to work out the kinks."

"Don't trust me near a real sword?" Connor asked, amused, as sat down.

"Maybe I don't trust myself."

Connor gave Duncan a sharp look but didn't say anything, just set his footwear out of the way and began stretching out. "So you're selling the dojo?"

Duncan shook his head. "I've deeded the building to Richie and transferred the dojo accounts over to him. That's part of what I was doing in Seacouver.  That, and clearing out my personal things from the loft so he can take over." He checked over another shinai.

"Leaving Seacouver?"

"Not permanently, but now we've got this place and I can't see making that long trip with the babies."

Connor shuddered. "Good point. And toddlers are worse."

"I set up a fund Richie can use to renovate the place, and he always liked helping out in the dojo."

"Good idea. The kid needs a chance to start a life of his own."

Duncan was now barefoot so Connor bowed and took up his favorite ready position, with the shinai held over his head. He watched Duncan settle into the basic ready position with his shinai pointed at Connor's mid-upper body.

Neither spoke as they studied each other for a moment. Since they were both Immortals, they had dispensed with the protection afforded by helmet and body armor. Connor was glad; it was easier to see Duncan's face like this, and there was something about the way Duncan looked that bothered him. Connor knew from past experience that he wouldn't get Duncan to tell him what was wrong, not until he'd exhausted himself fighting.

Duncan scored the first point, a sharp blow across Connor's right wrist that made him wryly aware of just how out of practice he was with this particular form of combat. Connor scored the next, a strike to Duncan's left temple, and he grinned at his cousin, expecting the competition for the final point would be fierce. To his surprise, he scored a winning thrust to the throat almost immediately, and only his respect for his weapon kept him from dropping it in surprise. In all the years he'd known Duncan, he'd never seen anyone succeed with that particular move against the younger Scot.

"A bit out of practice, heh?" he asked lightly, but inside he was deeply troubled. It was clear something serious was bothering Duncan. It was also clear that the ordered ritual of kendo combat wouldn't help. Duncan needed a rousing fight to shake loose whatever was wrong. Connor wondered about the prohibition against swords but shrugged it off; there were certainly other weapons to choose from, if he remembered Duncan's collection correctly.

Connor went to the crate and pulled out two bo staves, tossing one to Duncan. He raised an eyebrow at the choice. "You _are_ planning on beating the crap out of me, aren't you?"

Connor gave his student the smug look he knew Duncan hated. "Unless you defend yourself better than you usually do - yes."

Duncan glared and took a stance, waiting for Connor to make the first move. Connor attacked with a sharp blow aimed at Duncan's midsection. Duncan defended himself easily, launching a flurry of counter-blows that Connor also repelled with ease. For a few minutes, there were no sounds but the smack of the wooden bos and the combatants' breathing.

Connor studied Duncan's form, gauging that his usual focus was lacking. He feinted towards Duncan's head, then brought his bo down and around, sweeping Duncan's feet out from under him. Duncan hit the floor and rolled, evading Connor's downward thrust by inches.

Connor let him regain his feet and decided it was time for the second part of his assault. "All right, lad, what's wrong with you?"

Warily, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"You look like you haven't slept in days, and I haven't seen you fight this badly in three hundred years."

Duncan glared again and held his bo defensively in front of him. "I'm good enough to drop _you_ , Connor."

"I seem to be the one doing the dropping here," Connor said. He moved suddenly, hooking Duncan's leg again and sending him sprawling. "Twice." He retreated, allowing Duncan to regain his feet. "Surely all this isn't because of what happened to the Old One."

Duncan frowned. "His name is Methos. And why shouldn't I be worried? He nearly _died_."

"But he didn't," Connor pointed out. "He's alive and well, and the children must be well also or Dr. Fremont wouldn't have allowed him to travel." He cocked his head. "Or is this more of your selfish brooding?"

Duncan growled and moved to engage Connor. "Selfish?"

"Yes. Very selfish." Connor blocked a blow aimed for his neck, his disengage nearly jerking Duncan's bo out of his hands. "What else can you call it when you allow yourself to get into this condition?"

He attacked Duncan with a flurry of blows before locking their staves together against Duncan's throat. "Right now you're so exhausted, a brand-new Immortal with a pocket knife could take your head, and where would that leave the old bastard?"

"His name is _Methos_ ," Duncan said from between clenched teeth. He shoved hard, sending Connor sprawling. "And you don't know a damned thing, Connor!"

Connor picked himself up, dusting off his pants as he eyed Duncan and debated strategy. It didn't take much insight to see that Duncan was on the edge of disclosing whatever was bothering him. "I know that _Methos_ is tougher than you think."

"He's helpless, Connor! He nearly _died_!"

Connor laughed, and the dry, rasping sound of his laugh made Duncan want to break the other man's face. "Methos? Helpless? You _are_ delusional."

"Damn it, Connor! He was injured two _days_ ago and he's still healing!"

Connor cocked his head. "I didn't say he wasn't hurt, lad. I just said he wasn't helpless. He kept his head, didn't he?"

Duncan snarled, "What if he hadn't? He's not the kind of fighter you and I are."

Connor stared at him incredulously. "Methos is ten times older than either of us. Do you really think he cannot fight to protect his life? I think he can keep his head on his shoulders. He certainly doesn't need you to nursemaid him."

Duncan glared at his cousin and raised his bo, striking furiously. Connor evaded and the wooden bos clashed again and again. Duncan, exhausted already, lost his footing for a moment and Connor took advantage of the opening. He drove his staff into Duncan's stomach, knocking him to the floor. Duncan gasped and rolled backwards, coming up on his feet, but he was clearly shaken, his breath knocked out of him. He came at Connor, striking at his cousin's bo but without his usual skill. Connor deflected easily, stepped back, rotated the bo in his hands and smashed it up against Duncan's cheek and nose.

Reflexive tears of pain rose in Duncan's eyes as blood poured out of his nose. Connor didn't let up, whirling the staff and cracking it over Duncan's head. He sank to his knees, holding desperately onto his staff to prop him up. Connor smacked his bo against the back of Duncan's thighs, hard enough to bruise, then whacked the heel of his hand against Duncan's face, splitting his bottom lip and knocking him flat.

"Well," he said, almost conversationally, "do you really believe your spouse is helpless?"

"No," Duncan gasped out, rolling over and struggling to his knees. "He's not helpless." Tears of pain spilled from his eyes as blood dripped from his broken nose and split lip, and his head throbbed, but he still wasn't ready to concede. "But _if_ he'd lost or taken the Quickening..."

"He has more sense than that," Connor said, frowning. "Surely you know that?" Duncan pushed himself to his feet with the bo and didn't reply as he wiped at his face. Connor's eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell him you thought he'd risk it, did you?"

Duncan shrugged and moved his hands helplessly, still not meeting his teacher's eyes.

Connor's smack with the bo across his backside caught Duncan by surprise and sent him sprawling on the floor.

"Goddammit, Connor, what was that for?" Duncan protested. He abandoned his bo, too pain-wracked to care about continuing the fight.

"For being the biggest bloody fool I've ever known, that's what! What were you thinking - no, don't answer that. It's obvious you weren't thinking at all!"

"Well, dammit, what was I supposed to think!" Duncan exploded. "He as good as told me he would have taken care of it if we hadn't shown up in time."

Connor gave him a half sardonic and half sympathetic look. "Aye, and I can think of a couple ways to 'take care of it' myself. I expect that crafty old devil had at least half a dozen plans in mind, none of which involved taking a Quickening that could hurt the babes. You're lucky he didn't take _your_ head for saying that."

Duncan rolled into a sitting position, his head hanging dejectedly. "Yeah, well, maybe he should have. God knows I'm no one's blessing as a husband." He sounded totally miserable.

Connor dropped into a crouch, laying a hand on his knee. "Duncan, I know you didn't mean to hurt him and I'm certain he forgave you when you apologized." Duncan bit his lip and Connor frowned. "You didn't apologize for letting him think you didn't trust him?" Duncan flushed, and his frown deepened. "You do, don't you?"

"I told him I didn't mean what I said."

Connor shoved him away angrily, sending him sprawling on his back. "Idiot!" He stood up, stomping away from Duncan but glaring back over at him. "At this rate, you'll be lucky to make it to your first anniversary!"

Duncan lay where he landed, and a single loud groan burst out of him. "I totally screwed up, didn't I?" He covered his face with his arm.

Connor sighed. He turned back to look at his cousin, his student, and the misery on Duncan's face made him relent. He crossed back to sit beside Duncan.

"Duncan, trust is such an important part of marriage. How can you possibly live with someone and love him if you don't trust him? Has he ever given you reason to think that you _couldn't_ trust him?" Duncan lay absolutely still, his arm still over his face. "Don't ignore me, lad.  I still have my bo."

"No. He hasn't," Duncan muttered, his voice ragged.

"Then how much of this is your fear talking? And your guilt." Duncan was silent again. "One of the Clan injured while you, the chief, was absent. Knowing you have to trust someone else to safeguard something so precious to you as those children. It must be difficult for you to do."

"You know me too damn well." As Connor watched, Duncan's breath caught. "I wasn't there. And Methos...God, I really thought he was going to do it. Take that Quickening. I was so scared, Connor. I've never been that scared in my life. And I was so _angry_ with him for threatening my children.  I wanted to kill him." Duncan's voice thickened with unshed tears. "I wanted to kill him, Connor. How could I even _think_ that about someone I love?"

Duncan began crying now, great wrenching sobs that threatened to tear him apart, as all the fear and worry and guilt poured out of him. Connor gathered his cousin into his arms and held him close, letting Duncan cry against his shoulder for a long time while he rubbed Duncan's back. He felt sorry for his younger kinsman but knew he couldn't let up completely yet, not if he wanted to help Duncan keep his sanity and his marriage.

"Lad, it's all right to be frightened and angry," Connor said quietly, continuing to soothe his cousin. "But it's not all right to lash out at someone you love and just expect them to take it." Duncan nodded, not lifting his face from Connor's shoulder. "And as for not apologizing...If you'd said something hurtful to Tessa, you'd have apologized, right?"

Duncan raised his head, rubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. "She would have smacked me if I hadn't."

"Then why didn't you apologize to him?"

"I don't know," Duncan said lowly.

Connor frowned. "It's a wonder the man puts up with you at all," he said severely. "And it's a bad habit you need to break right now, my lad."

Duncan sighed. "I know but .it's not easy."

"Marriages never are. Duncan, just because Methos is a man and well able to defend himself doesn't mean he can't be hurt. And I'm not talking physically. Sometimes the worst hurts are ones to the heart and spirit. And they're the ones that last the longest."

Duncan closed his eyes tightly, suddenly seeing a figure walking along a dark quay. He shuddered. "I know. I - I haven't been able to sleep since then. I keep having this dream..."

Connor sighed and tightened his hold on his cousin. "If it troubles you so much, you should tell him about it. Remember, burdens shared are burdens halved."

"I'm supposed to tell Methos that every time I close my eyes I dream I've killed him, and then I take my own head?"

"I think he'll understand," Connor said. "After all, at his years, I expect he's been married a time or two himself."

"Sixty-nine," Duncan muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Duncan pushed himself out of Connor's arms, wiping his face with his sleeve again, and looked at Connor uncertainly. "You're really sure I should tell him about the dream?"

"Positive. Hiding things in a marriage only brings trouble, drives you further apart." He smiled and put his hand on Duncan's neck, giving him a little shake. "And _apologize_ , you stiff-necked bastard."

"I will." He gave Connor a crooked half-smile. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Connor stood and pulled Duncan to his feet. "Think of it as self-preservation. If something happens to you, _I'd_ have to look after the old bastard."

Duncan snorted and Connor wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulders and steered him towards the house.

"Now we just need to get all this blood cleaned up," Connor said, cheerfully. "And figure out how to explain your condition to your husband without him killing _both_ of us."

 

* * *

 

As they approached the back terrace, Alex and Methos stopped talking and stared at them in silence. Methos gave a world-weary sigh.

"Boys, if you can't play nicely, I'm going to have to take away your toys."

Connor gave Duncan an amused look. "He does that so well."

"Dare I hope you left the salle more or less undamaged?" Methos asked.

Duncan shrugged sheepishly. "More or less."

Methos rolled his eyes but any further comments were forestalled as Joe came onto the terrace. "Adam, the wiring people want to know where you want your modem line - Jesus, Mac! What happened to you?"

"Connor and I were just - "

"The chimney in Joe's room needs repairing," Richie announced, joining them on the terrace. "Once the sweep finishes, you should be able to - Mac!" He stared at his teacher. "I hope the other fellow looks worse."

"Hardly," Duncan said, working his jaw and glancing over at Connor. "Damn! I think you knocked a tooth loose."

Richie glared. "You didn't need to do that! It wasn't his fault Adam got hurt, it was mine!"

"It wasn't _anyone's_ fault," Methos said before Duncan and Richie could get their who-feels-the-most-guilt competition going.

Joe cocked his head. "Connor worked you over good. You been a bad boy lately, Mac?"

"Yes. I - " Duncan began.

" _No_ ," Methos said sharply, getting up from the lounge chair. He grabbed a hand-towel from a stack on the table, dumped cold water over it, and slapped it against Duncan's bloody nose and lip. "We'd better get you cleaned up. Any of the bathrooms working yet, Joe?"

"The master suite's done," Joe replied, checking his notes. "Except the shower.  It's stubbed in, just waiting for the unit to arrive."

"We put your bags up there," Richie said. "In case Mac wants to change," he added, indicating Duncan's blood-stained shirt.

Methos nodded his thanks and glanced at Duncan. "Come on, then. Let's get you decent."

Duncan nodded, standing up to follow him. "And we need to talk."

"Oh, we're going to talk all right, MacLeod," Methos said grimly.

Connor shuddered as the two men disappeared into the house. "The scariest words in the English language: 'we need to talk'."

Richie wasn't in any mood for humor and glared at Connor. "You didn't need to do that."

Connor wiped his hands, looking at him from under hooded eyelids. "As a matter of fact, I did. He wouldn't tell me what was bothering him."

"He doesn't talk to me, either, but I don't beat him up!" Richie said hotly. Connor raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay, I probably couldn't beat him up anyway, but _if_ I could - "

"This was more than 'not talking to me'. Duncan has been troubled at heart. He hasn't slept in days; in his condition, he's a danger to himself and others."

Richie started to reply but Joe put a restraining hand on his arm. "Connor's right," he said. "Mac's been eating himself up inside. He needed this, a kind of catharsis."

"Whatever," Richie said, still glaring.

"He'll be okay. Adam will clean him up."

"Speaking of getting cleaned up," Alexandra said pointedly to her husband. He looked down at his blood-smeared shirt and grinned at her sheepishly. "No dinner for you till you get decent."

"Right; I'll just go wash up, then. Dare I hope the water heaters are operational?"

Joe consulted his list. "Guest bath above the kitchen is fully functional, if you want to use that one. The plumber's still working on the pipes at the other end of the house, so we just have the one functioning bathroom right now, plus the half-bath down here. Unless someone wants to see if Adam and Duncan will share theirs."

They heard the master bedroom door slam above them, and Connor shuddered. "Even _I'm_ not that brave. By the way, where's Johnny?"

Richie grinned and pointed, and Connor turned around to see the soot-darkened teen crawl out of the fireplace behind them.

"What in the hell - "

Johnny looked up to see his father staring at him. "Hey, Pop!" He blinked as he saw the blood on his shirt. "What happened to you?"

"Never mind that. What happened to _you_?"

Johnny grinned. "Helping the sweep clear out the chimney," he said, his voice taking on a "duh, Dad" tone. "It's totally awesome!"

Connor blinked, trying to merge the filthy-looking boy in front of him with the one who called taking out the trash "gross". "I'm going to take your word for it."

"Juan Ramirez MacLeod," Alex intoned ominously from behind Connor. "Get your dirty self out here right this minute."

Johnny rolled his eyes, dragging his feet as he made his way outside. "Aw, Mom."

"Don't 'Mom' me, young man!" Alex surveyed the teen for a minute, shaking her head in disgust, thankful that he'd been wearing old clothes. "You get over to the stables and use the hose to wash yourself. And do it right or I'll come over there, strip you, and wash you myself!"

"Mo-om," Johnny said, agonizingly, flicking a quick glance over at Richie and Joe who were studiously avoiding looking at him. "Geez! Not in front of the guys!"

"I mean it, John."

"Couldn't I just get in the hot tub?" he asked, whining, knowing that the water from the hose was going to be freezing cold. The glare he got in return was answer enough, and he dragged himself in the direction of the stable.

"John!" Alex called, relenting a little. "After you wash off, you can go in the spring till dinner."

Johnny perked up and raced off, calling, "Thanks, Mom!" over his shoulder.

Richie grinned. "Ah, the things Mac has to look forward to." He looked down at his hands and grimaced. "And speaking of washing..." He disappeared into the house, heading for the half-bath in the room slated to be the nursery.

Connor recalled his own clean-up plans and headed for the guest bath. Joe glanced upwards at the balcony attached to the master bedroom and decided it would be prudent to be out of earshot for a while.

"The contractors are wrapping up for the day," he told Alex. "An early dinner might be a good idea, save us from making the trip back to town in the dark. Feel up to helping in the kitchen, or did Adam wear you out?"

Alex grinned. "Actually, it was refreshing to talk to someone who is interested in the same things. For a young man, he's very knowledgeable."

Joe hesitated, knowing that Connor hadn't told his wife Methos' true identity but also not quite sure what he _had_ told her. "Adam's not _quite_ as young as he looks," he hedged. "And he reads a lot.  Gonna be a researcher for the library in Poitiers, you know." Turning the talk to safer subjects, he led the way to the kitchen.

 

* * *

Duncan winced as the door slammed behind them. He shot a hesitant look at his spouse as Methos pushed past him into the bathroom. A moment later he heard water run in the tub and relaxed. A bath sounded wonderful.

He stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, still holding the wet towel against his face. The cleaning crew had done a good job in here;  the debris that had littered the floor had been swept up and the fireplace cleaned out. The windows to the terrace balcony were still grimy, and the walls could use a new coat of whitewash, but Methos' platform bed had been made up and an oil lamp set on the bedside table, giving the place a homey touch.

Methos came back into the room. "Get out of those clothes," he ordered.

Duncan obediently began unbuttoning his shirt while Methos pulled clean clothes out of the suitcase. 

"Mind telling me why Connor decided to beat you bloody?" Methos said in a tone making it clear that, despite his air of politeness, there'd be hell to pay if Duncan didn't talk fast.

"He didn't," Duncan objected. "We were working out with the bo and, well, I was having a little trouble focusing."

Methos gave him a look. "Well, duh."

Duncan couldn't help grinning at that. It sounded like something Johnny would say, not a five-thousand-year-old man. Then his grin faded as he remembered what he had to tell Methos.

He pushed off his shirt, wincing at the pull of barely-healed muscles, and heard Methos catch his breath behind him.  His healing bruises must be spectacularly colored by now.

"Jesus, Mac! I'd call that more than 'a little trouble focusing'."

Duncan shrugged then winced again. "I, um, Connor was trying to help me get past a - a problem I'm having."

Methos looked at him sharply as he set the clean clothes on the bed. "The problem that's kept you from sleeping the past two nights?"

"Yeah." Duncan drew in a deep breath and looked down at the shirt balled up in his fists. "I've been having a dream. A nightmare. Every time I fall asleep."

Methos studied Duncan's face and frowned. "That bad? Want to talk about it? I promise I won't laugh."

Duncan nodded. "I know. I just..." He swallowed hard, unable to voice the horror still lurking in his thoughts.

Methos moved to pull Duncan into his arms, just holding him. "Okay. When you're ready, I'm here."

Duncan nodded, turning his face into the space between Methos' shoulder and neck. He breathed in the scent of his lover, slightly sweaty from the heat. The steady heartbeat under his ear was reassuring, and for a little while it pushed back the darkness of his dream.

"You died."

Duncan swallowed, trying to keep down the bile that suddenly filled his throat. "It was my fault. I couldn't get there fast enough and he killed you. He cut out your heart. And I killed him, only...only it was me. _I_ killed you. And Julian was there...he had to...the babies had become Immortal and..."

Methos' hands caressed his back, soothing him. "It didn't happen; it was only a dream. A horrible dream, but a dream all the same."

Duncan pushed himself out of his husband's arms, anger suddenly exploding again. "Do you think that matters? Dream or not, the thought of losing you..." His throat closed down and suddenly he couldn't bear to look at Methos, not while the dream image was so sharp before his eyes. "You want something to drink? I could get something from downstairs."

"Don't," Methos said sharply. "Running away won't help and believe me, I know."

"Neither will yelling at you," Duncan said gruffly. "I've already hurt you badly, and I never even said I was sorry."

"Of course you did."

"No. _You_ said you were sorry, but I didn't." He looked at Methos. "I hurt you again, and instead of handing me my head for washing, you forgave me when you know I'm just going to do it again."

"Making heavy weather out of a little fight, aren't you?" Methos asked.

"Don't," Duncan said, grabbing Methos' hand and holding it. "Don't make light of this."

"Duncan..."

"Don't," Duncan repeated. "I know you'd never risk your life needlessly, or the babies, and what I said to you was unforgivable."

Methos frowned. "I think I should be allowed to decide what I can or can't forgive."

Duncan sighed, trying to reign in his emotions. "Do you have to make this harder for me? You know exactly what I mean."

Methos sighed, and took Duncan's face in both of his hands. "Breathe," he said, gently. He was tired, his healing body aching and longing for another nap, but knew he had to get his lover through this. "Stop holding back and let it go."

Duncan took a deep shuddering breath, shaking his head as he fought to control his emotions. Methos had enough to deal with; he didn't need Duncan falling apart on him as well.  " _No._  I can't do this to you."

Methos snorted and gave him an exasperated look. "You can't do _what_ to me, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan of Idiots? Have a moment of being human? Have a moment of not being the strongest?" The amusement on his face turned to irritation. "Have a moment of _not_ taking care of me, and maybe, just _maybe,_ let me take care of _you_.  What - Connor's good enough to confide in but not _me_?"

Duncan's eyes widened as he stared at his spouse's irate face. "Oh, God, Methos..." His voice failed him as he reached for his lover. Methos gathered him into a strong embrace, holding him close.

"It's all right," Methos said quietly.  "Let it go.  I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Ever." He pushed back Duncan's sweaty hair from his forehead and kissed him. "I plan on keeping my head right here on my body for a long, long time."

Duncan put his face in Methos' shoulder. "I am so sorry," he mumbled.

"I know, but I'm tired and in no mood to deal with a brooding, guilt-ridden Scot."

Duncan raised his head from Methos' shoulder to give him a mock-glare. "Will you just let me apologize without making a damned production about it?"

Methos grinned. "Certainly. Apology accepted." He kissed Duncan briefly, got up and went into the bathroom to turn off the taps. "Bath's ready."

Duncan started laughing and, when Methos came back into the room, pulled him down onto the bed. "Dammit, you are the most aggravating..." He rolled, pinning Methos, and kissed him. "You do that on purpose, don't you?"

"What, wind you up so you forget all about your guilty brooding? Would I do that?" Methos asked with an amused glint in his eyes.

"Yes." Duncan kissed Methos again, a gentler kiss this time. "And it's not going to work this time. I'm sorry I was a jerk earlier, and I'm sorry about all the other times I've hurt you and never said I was sorry. I never meant you to think I didn't value your friendship or your love."

Methos closed his eyes. "Duncan, you don't have to..."

"Yes, I do," Duncan said stubbornly. "You can't lie to me, Methos. I know it hurt when I said that. I saw the look on your face."

Methos sighed. "Yes, it hurt like hell, after all we've been through. But I knew _why_ you said it. I've been there a thousand times myself: terrified and angry and on an adrenaline high where you want to yell and hit something."

"It still doesn't make it right."

"Would you _please_ stop going on about 'right' and 'wrong' for one bloody moment, and just - I don't know - scream or something and get it out of your system?" Methos demanded.

Duncan couldn't help grinning at that. "Primal scream therapy, Dr. Pierson? Don't tell me: you invented it, right?"

Methos gave him a withering look. "Very funny. Next you'll accuse me of starting those encounter groups where the men beat drums to get in touch with their warrior side."

"I'll do no such thing," Duncan said. "I may be thick-headed at times but I'm not _stupid_. And I've got a much better idea. Why don't I make _you_ scream?" He kissed Methos again, this time slowly and passionately.

When he released Methos' mouth, he murmured, "I have a feeling my doctor wouldn't approve of this."

"So we won't tell him," Duncan said, kissing Methos again. "Am I forgiven? If I promise not to be an idiot in future?"

"Piecrust promises," Methos said, but he wrapped his arms around Duncan and shifted his legs, making room for his lover to settle between them. "Easily made, easily broken."

Duncan laid kisses over Methos' face. "Say 'I forgive you, Duncan' or I stop right now."

"Threats, Mac? Ow!" Methos complained as Duncan nipped his earlobe. "All right, all right. I forgive you, Duncan. As long as _next time_ you talk to me, instead of letting your cousin break your nose." He reached up to gently tweak said appendage. "I'm rather fond of this as it is."

Duncan grinned at him. "You're slipping. That was very nearly a mushy declaration."

"You want mushy?" Methos was suddenly serious as he cradled Duncan's face between his hands. "You want to know why I always forgive you and take you back, as a friend, as a lover? Because I love you, Duncan MacLeod. I always have. I always will."

Duncan felt a lump in his throat. "I love you, too." He kissed Methos again, a tender kiss with all his heart behind it.

When he released his husband's mouth, Methos said plaintively, "Is this where we _finally_ get to the mind-blowing make-up sex?"

Duncan silenced him with another kiss, and after that there was no more talking.

 

* * *

 

_The quay was in darkness, although Duncan recognized the figure walking from one pool of light to another. He paused in his workout to follow the movements of his spouse, smiling fondly even as he was aware that something was wrong. The sudden gleam of a sword in the lamplight made him scream out Methos' name as he raced towards him, desperately aware that he wouldn't be in time..._

Duncan jerked upright in bed, his heart racing and his chest heaving. Not the darkness of the quay but the afternoon-brightness of an unfamiliar room, and for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was.

"Duncan?" The bed shifted and a sleepy voice said his name. "Shh, it's okay," the  voice murmured as a hand reached out to touch him.

Duncan knew that voice and turned to pull Methos into his arms, holding him tightly.

"Easy," Methos said, wincing as his lover's tight embrace jarred his injured arm.

Duncan immediately loosened his death grip with a murmured apology but he was unable to completely let Methos go. "Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm not the one thrashing around the bed." Methos brushed the hair out of Duncan's eyes, studying his face. "Nightmare again?"

"Yeah," Duncan said, aware that his voice sounded raw. He wondered if he'd been screaming out loud as well as in his dreams.

"It's okay. Come here." Methos settled back down on the pillows, pulling Duncan down to rest on his good shoulder. His hand moved soothingly over Duncan's back, working in gentle circles over his sweaty flesh, and Duncan could feel himself relaxing by degrees.

"Sorry," he murmured again. "I thought...I really thought the dream would go away."

"Because you told me about it?" Methos shook his head. "It's not that easy, and you know it." He kissed Duncan's hair again, saying softly, "Let it go, Duncan."

"Easy for you to say," Duncan muttered, but his eyes drifted shut and he relaxed.

"Are you going to refuse to accept the benefit of my vast years and wisdom?"

Duncan couldn't help grinning at that. "Perish the thought. I might have to make a note of this day in my own journals: the day that you actually imparted some words of wisdom."

"Brat," Methos said with mock irritation. "Just for that, I'm not going to sing you a lullaby."

Duncan snickered. "Oh, that I can't pass up." He snuggled in closer. "That is, if you _can_ sing and actually _know_ a lullaby."

"You'd be surprised," Methos murmured. His hand moved up to caress the nape of Duncan's neck and he hummed softly. Duncan was pleasantly surprised to find that Methos could actually carry a tune quite nicely, and he let himself drift along with the humming.

Methos pressed another kiss against Duncan's hair, noting that the other man was nearly under. "Sleep, Duncan," he murmured. "It's all right. I'll stand the watch."

Duncan let himself go. And for the first time in days, his sleep was untroubled by dreams.

 

* * *

 

Methos lay still until he was certain Duncan was asleep, then slipped out of bed. Duncan shifted, muttering, but then settled down  again. Moving quietly, Methos made his way into the bathroom where he quickly washed up with the now-tepid bath water, then drained the tub. He pulled on his discarded jeans and Henley, not bothering to search for the boxers which seemed to have disappeared. He didn't intend to be gone long, knowing that the last thing Duncan needed was to have another one of those dreams without anyone to wake him. But there was something he needed to do before Duncan woke.

Methos went downstairs and found Joe in the kitchen with Alexandra. "Hey, buddy," Joe said, looking up from the pot he was stirring on the stove. "Looks like you caught a nap; you're looking much better."

Methos nodded, then sniffed the air and grinned. "Chicken soup, Joe?"

"You guessed it," Joe said. "Julian says you're not eating and I thought this might be a little easier going down."

"You wouldn't happen to have any stout to go with that, would you?"

Joe snorted. "Right. And have Mac kill both of us? Speaking of which," he said, a gleam in his eyes. "How's Mac doing?"

Methos refused to blush. "Sleeping," he said. "I think it's the first time in days." Casually, he said, "Where's everyone else?"

"If you're talking about Richie and Johnny," Alex said, briefly looking up from the bread she was punching down, "they're in the hot spring. Connor's at the other end of the house looking over the plans for the security system, and Julian ran into town to pick up a few things."

"Thanks." He turned  towards the door.

"Dinner in two hours, okay?" Joe called after him, and Methos nodded.

He found Connor at the far end of the house, in the room that would be Joe's. He had a copy of the plans in his hand and was numbering the windows, but he set them down when Methos entered and sat on the corner of a worktable.

"How's Duncan?" he asked.

"Sleeping, for the first time in days."

Connor nodded. "Good. I hope you forgave the lad. His heart's in the right place. It's just that sometimes he speaks before thinking." He tilted his head, studying the ancient Immortal. "He cares a great deal about you."

Methos nodded. "And finds it hard to forgive himself. Between us, we may have made him think about that." He walked over to Connor, holding out his hand. "Thanks."

Connor stood up, moving forward to shake Methos' hand. "You're welcome, Cousin Methos. After all, you're - "

Methos abruptly pulled Connor in close, ignoring the twinge of pain from his shoulder. He shoved the heel of his hand into the Scot's face and then hooked his legs out from under him. Connor found himself lying on his back on the floor, his nose and lower lip throbbing.

" - family." Connor touched his nose, not surprised to find it was broken.

Methos leaned over, his eyes implacable, "Just so there's no misunderstanding, _Cousin._  You do that to Duncan again, and I'll make sure you have a bruise for every bruise, a cut for every cut. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Aye."

Methos grabbed a discarded cloth off the table and tossed it to Connor. The Scot caught it and held it against his nose to staunch the bleeding. Then he started laughing.

Methos raised an eyebrow. "Did I miss the joke?"

Connor grinned at him as he sat up. "I told Duncan you could take care of yourself, and damned if I wasn't right."

He was sitting on a dirty floor, his clean clothes once again a mess, his nose aching and his lip swollen and painful. And he'd rarely felt better in his life.


	49. Chapter 49

Duncan rolled over in bed and stretched, eyes still closed to savor the feeling of waking up slowly. For the first time in what felt like forever, he'd really slept, not just fitfully dozed as he had in Seacouver. And then spending the last two nights fighting nightmares... As he spread out he realized the bed was empty, but the comforting thrum of Methos' Presence was still nearby.

"Methos?"

The bed dipped and he could tell, without even opening his eyes, that Methos was leaning over him. As quickly as a striking snake, he grabbed his lover and tumbled him onto the bed, rolling so he had him pinned under him.

"Well, if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you're feeling better," Methos said dryly, looking up at his grinning spouse.

Duncan leaned forward to nuzzle Methos' neck. "That's not all I'm feeling," he said provocatively.

Methos chuckled. "You are such a slut, Duncan MacLeod."

"Said the pot to the kettle." Duncan nipped the spot he'd just been nuzzling and heard Methos moan.

"Mac...dinner...we can't..." he moaned. Since he was rocking his hips up against Duncan, hen didn't take the refusal seriously.

A loud pounding on the door jerked them out of their sexual haze. "Up and at 'em, guys! Dinner's on the table, and if it gets cold I'm gonna be mighty pissed, so put on your pants and get out here!"

Duncan dropped his head onto Methos' shoulder, laughing. He could tell Methos was laughing, too, by the way his body shook under him.

The pounding came again. "If I don't hear you say 'Yes, Joe', I'm coming in there!"

"Yes, Joe!" They called out in chorus, then Duncan started laughing again.

"All right.  Five minutes, or I send _Richie_ in after you."

"Shit! I think he means it," Duncan said, rolling off Methos and reaching for his pants. He looked over at where his spouse lay laughing helplessly and glared. "Well, it's all right for _you!_ You've got your clothes on." He paused with one leg in his pants and looked back at Methos. "Come to think of it, _why_ do you have your clothes on?"

Methos shrugged. "I got up a while ago."

Duncan noted the expression on Methos' face as he finished pulling on his pants. "Is he still alive?"

"Who?" Methos asked cautiously.

"Connor."

Methos closed his eyes and a half-smile touched his lips. "He lives. His nose has been a little rearranged, but other than that..."

"He was just trying to help me."

"Which is why he's still alive."

Duncan grinned and pulled him up off the bed and into his arms. "You territorial old cat."  He gave Methos a deep, toe-curling kiss, one only interrupted by more pounding on the door.

"Guys? Are you coming?"

Duncan gave Methos a wicked smile. "Not yet, Joe, but give us a couple minutes." Methos dropped his forehead against Duncan's shoulder, snickering.

"Jesus, Mac, that's way too much information," Joe's voice growled.

Methos pushed away from Duncan and tossed him a shirt, then went to the door. He opened it and gave Joe a mock-glare. "You really know how to kill a mood, Dawson."

"You guys got all night for those shenanigans," Joe pointed out. "But dinner won't wait." He glanced past Methos at Duncan. "Um - you might want to wash your face, Mac."

Duncan reached up to touch his face and felt the dried blood there. He flushed as he realized he hadn't even washed up after his combat with Connor. "Listen, you two go ahead. I'm going to take a quick dip in the hot spring."

Belting on his robe and grabbing a change of clothes, Duncan made his way down to the building housing the warm mineral spring. A faint light shone through the chinks and, when he opened the door, he found Richie and Johnny relaxing in the water.

Richie gave Duncan an assessing look. "Come on in, Mac. The water's fine."

Duncan noticed that Johnny wouldn't look up at him and, remembering that the teen had refused to come to his wedding, said uncertainly, "Are you sure?"

Johnny looked up briefly before looking back down. "Sure, Uncle Duncan."

Duncan shed his robe and pants and slid into the water. It was pleasantly warm and he groaned with pleasure as it eased the phantom aches from his earlier session with Connor.

Richie grinned. "Feeling a bit sore, Mac?"

Duncan gave Richie a mock-glare, then dropped his head back against the stones circling the spring and closed his eyes.

"I heard Dad worked you over good."

Duncan heard the question in Johnny's voice and he opened his eyes, looking over at the boy. "That he did."

"Why?" Johnny asked bluntly.

Duncan shrugged. "Because I was being an idiot. There was something I needed to tell Adam and I was avoiding it, even with myself."

Johnny's cheeks flushed slightly. "Adam. That's your...your..." His voice trailed off.

"My husband," Duncan said evenly. "Not officially; same-sex marriages aren't recognized in France or either of our home countries, but _we_ know we're married. As do our friends." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. "We missed you at the wedding, Johnny."

Johnny flushed even more. "Yeah. I, um, Uncle Duncan, I..."

Richie shifted slightly. "You guys want me to go? Give you some time to talk?"

Duncan, his eyes fixed on Johnny's bowed head, nodded. "Tell everyone we'll be along for dinner in a few minutes."

Richie nodded and hauled himself out of the spring, grabbing a towel from a stack on the bench inside the door. He dried himself quickly, pulled on his clothes and left, pausing to give Johnny a reassuring look.

"Johnny?" Duncan asked quietly. "Does it bother you that I'm with another man?"

Johnny hunched a shoulder in reply. "Not really. I mean, I think it's kinda gross, but it's not that I hate gays or anything like that. Some of the older guys at school...well, you know." He flushed slightly. "That's not why I didn't want to come. I just..." He cleared his throat. "Dad and I had a talk, you know, on my birthday. And I guess I was a little freaked, thinking there'd be all those others at the wedding."

Duncan frowned, trying to understand what Johnny was talking about. He and Methos had only been together since April.  And while Connor may have known about Duncan's past romps with other men, it didn't seem likely that he would have discussed that with his teen-aged son. "Told you what?"

"About me. About being...like you guys. And Richie."

"Ah." Duncan frowned slightly. He and Connor had always had differing opinions on whether to tell pre-Immortals what they were. He preferred to keep them in the dark and let nature take its course, like with Richie and Michelle. Connor thought it was better if they were prepared for it before First Death, which must be why he'd told Johnny.

Duncan suddenly realized he would be forced to make that decision again, with the twins. Even worse, he would have to decide whether to let Fate decide when - and if - they became Immortal, or to induce it himself. He shuddered at the thought of killing his own children to make them Immortal. However, the idea of watching them age and die while he continued to live was even worse.

"Uncle Duncan?"

Duncan jerked his head up, noticing he had been lost in his own thoughts. "Sorry, Johnny. What were you saying?"

"Are all Immortals like you, and...and Adam?" Johnny seemed embarrassed to have to repeat the question. "Um, bisexual, I mean?"

Duncan blinked and said, slowly, "I've never thought about it. It's said that all mortals have the ability to be attracted to either sex, so I suppose it's the same for Immortals. And because Immortals tend to live longer, we have more opportunity for...experimentation."

"So is this, like, an experiment for you?"

Duncan shook his head. "I love Adam as much as your parents love each other, and if we're lucky we'll spend all of our life together."

"But you've always liked women," Johnny said, puzzled.

"Yes, I've been with women, but I've had occasional relationships with men," Duncan said candidly. "I just had to be more careful about those, given the attitude of the times."

"Oh."

Johnny was quiet, and Duncan studied his face. Once more, he questioned Connor's wisdom in telling Johnny he was pre-Immortal. It was hard enough at Johnny's age, trying to figure out who you were and where you fit in. Adding to that the knowledge that he _wasn't_ like his mortal school friends had to be difficult to deal with. And then finding out that his favorite "uncle" wasn't as straight as Johnny had thought, well, it had to have Johnny questioning himself in so many areas.

"There _are_ a number of Immortals who prefer just one gender. The Valincourts, the people who own the place where Adam and I were married, have been married for three hundred years. And I know Richie only likes girls," he added, thinking it might help to mention someone close to Johnny's age.

It did; the teen's face lit up. "Really? Good." He flushed suddenly and said rapidly, "I didn't mean that it wasn't good that you're gay - bisexual. I just meant I could talk to him about girls since you don't like them any more and Dad would just _freak_ if I asked him for tips about dating and sex and...oh, God," he moaned, bright red with embarrassment. "Can I just drown myself now?"

Duncan grinned. "Not unless you want your dad to kill _both_ of us. Seriously, Johnny," he added, "just because you'll be Immortal someday doesn't mean you can take risks now. Once you go through First Death, that's the way you'll be for the rest of your Immortal life."

Johnny nodded soberly. "Yeah, Dad had that talk with me, too. Told me that dying young, before he got his full growth, was, like, a handicap he'd had to work hard to overcome."

Duncan nodded. "Immortals who die young like your dad, Richie, and Adam are at a disadvantage when they come up against those of us who died later. Not that you have to worry about Connor," he said quickly. "He can still wipe the floor with me."

Johnny snickered, once again sounding like a kid, and Duncan was relieved. "Yeah. I wish I could have seen it."

Duncan gave him a mock-glare. "Thanks a lot, Johnny! Oh, and just because I'm with Adam doesn't mean I don't like girls, so if you need someone to talk to, I'm still here."

Johnny nodded. "Thanks."

"And now, we'd better move before your mom disembowels us for missing dinner."

"Yeah, I'm starving," Johnny said, swinging up out of the pool and grabbing a towel. "Um, Uncle Duncan?"

"Hmm?" Duncan asked over his shoulder as he toweled off and pulled on his own clothes.

Johnny pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, then reached for his shoes. "Do you think that some day after... _you know..._ you could be my teacher? Dad says he won't be able to, says he loves me too much to be able to hurt me like he'd have to. And Richie says you're the best."

Duncan turned, smiling wryly. "Richie might be a little prejudiced. But yes, if you still need a teacher then, I'd be honored, Johnny."

"And, um, do you think you could call me 'John'? Johnny's a kid's name."

Duncan hid his grin, remembering a similar conversation with Richie. "Of course, John." He reached out to grab the back of Johnny's neck, shaking him slightly. "Come on; dinner awaits."

 

* * *

 

Duncan stretched out on one of the lounge chairs on the back terrace and thought that life didn't get any better than this. A pleasant dinner with almost all of his clan around him had left him feeling very content with his life. The conversation had been lively, Methos had been in one of his best moods, his wit acerbic but not vicious, and it had inspired the others to equal sallies of humor.

And, wonder of wonders, Methos had finished off two bowls of Joe's soup, the most he'd eaten since the injury. Duncan made a mental note to pry the recipe out of his Watcher or convince him to make enough to freeze for later use. The rest of them had dined on curried chicken breasts and fresh vegetables from the market.

The others had returned to their hotel a little while ago, except for Richie who had decided to "camp out" in the library. Duncan had a feeling that Richie had really remained behind to guard the two of them; he'd have to have a little chat with him soon. One brooder in the family was more than enough.

A contented sigh from the other lounge chair made him look over at his spouse affectionately. Methos was stretched out as well, his nose in his book again. Duncan couldn't help grinning. Already Methos was looking better, an afternoon spent lolling in the sunshine and fresh country air having put color back in his pale face. Duncan was feeling better himself, released from the guilt and anger that had been eating him up.

Duncan turned his head and looked out over the countryside spread before them. Rolling hills stretched as far as he could see, and the summer twilight seemed to wrap everything in rose-tinted shadows. He chuckled inwardly, thinking how Methos would roll his eyes to hear him use that kind of purple prose, and mentally calculated how long it would be before he could take his spouse back to bed.

A sudden gasp from the other chair made Duncan sit up in alarm and look over at Methos. The other Immortal's hands were on his belly, an indescribable look on his face.  His book lay abandoned on the ground, a sure sign that something was wrong.  In an instant, Duncan was at his side.

"Methos! Are you in pain? Should I call Julian?"

"No," Methos said, his voice sounded distracted. He appeared to be focused inward, then he looked up at Duncan and a smile lit his eyes. "I think she just kicked me."

Duncan's eyes widened. "You felt one of the babies move again?"

Methos nodded and reached for Duncan's hand. He placed it on his belly and that odd expression of focusing inward appeared again. Duncan held his breath and, after a moment, felt a definite tickle of something against his hand.

"I felt it," he said, awe coloring his voice. A second later, Duncan felt the faint rippling sensation again. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care.

"It's incredible," he murmured, his fingers caressing Methos' belly gently, as if he could transfer the touch to the child moving inside. "Our child," he breathed. He pressed a kiss against the spot, a little disappointed that there wasn't a repeat of the movement, but the awe and amazement of the moment was enough. "But how do you know it was _her_ kicking? It could have been him."

"I don't know," Methos said slowly. "I just...wait!" He grimaced. " _That_ was your son. I think he head-butted me."

He rubbed his hand over the area, and Duncan couldn't help laughing. Then the spot under his hand moved again and he said, "Competing for attention already."

Richie came out onto the terrace and paused at the sight of Duncan on his knees beside Methos' chair, murmuring something to the pregnant Immortal's belly. "Um, why is Mac talking to your stomach?"

Methos looked over at Richie. "He just felt the babies move for the first time."

"O...kay. Obviously a Kodak moment." Richie hesitated. "You want me to go away or something?"

Methos grinned. "Have a seat. We're not doing anything kinky, Rich."

Richie sat down on the other lounge chair, eying his teacher. "Right. Mac worshipping your belly isn't kinky?"

"Not in some circles," Methos said loftily.

"You are so full of it," Richie snorted.

Duncan looked around, blinking in surprise to see Richie sitting across from him. "Hello, Richie. Didn't hear you come in."

"I'm not surprised; you were zoned on Methos' belly."

Duncan grinned, too overwhelmed by the magic of the moment to be embarrassed. However, maybe this experience was best explored in private.

"Well, it's been a long day," Duncan said, standing up, "and tomorrow's going to be even longer." He held out his hand to Methos. "How about a bath and a massage before bed?"

"Twist my arm," Methos said with a grin, allowing Duncan to pull him up. " 'Night, Richie." He headed towards the stairs to the second floor, but Duncan paused for a minute.

"You going to be okay, Richie? There's not much to do around here yet..."

Richie grinned. "I think I can manage, Mac." He picked up the book Methos had left. "I might even do a little reading. Besides," he said with an impish grin, "it'll give us a chance to see how soundproof these walls are."

Duncan flushed and headed up the stairs with Richie's laughter ringing in his ears.

 

* * *

 

While Methos soaked in a warm tub, Duncan puttered around the bedroom getting things settled. He lit the lamp on the bedside table for light since the electricity wasn't on in anyplace but the kitchen wing as of yet. As there weren't any dressers or closets in their room, Duncan just took what they'd need for the night out of the suitcases. From his personal kit, he pulled out the massage oil and a tube of lubricant, setting them on the bedside table. Grabbing Methos' kit, he carried them both into the bathroom.

The master bathroom was one area that needed very little work since the previous owners had carved it out of the open living space of the original dormitory-style room. The fixtures were new and all it lacked was a shower, which Duncan had custom-ordered before his trip to Seacouver. It would be a couple weeks before it arrived, but he supposed they could make do with the tub until then.

Duncan glanced over at the tub where Methos was happily submerged in hot water up to his neck, and he grinned. Trust Methos to find a way to sprawl in a bathtub - although, given the size of it, he supposed it wasn't too difficult. The large claw-footed tub was big enough to hold the two of them comfortably.

With that thought, Duncan finished putting their personal items in the drawers under the sink and stripped off his clothes. He tapped Methos on the shoulder. "Sit up."

Methos glanced up at him. "Why? I just got comfortable."

"I'll scrub your back."

Methos scooted forward and Duncan climbed in behind. Picking up the soap and a washcloth, he lathered up Methos' back, then set aside the washcloth and started working on the tight muscles with his hands. Methos groaned as Duncan's fingers worked carefully over his back and shoulders, then he sighed with contentment.

Duncan sluiced him off, settled against the back of the tub, and encouraged Methos to lean back against him. For a long moment they lay there, just enjoying the hot water and each other's presence.

Softly Duncan said, "We still need to talk."

Methos groaned and dropped his head back. "Mac, are we going to talk this subject to _death_? I apologized, you apologized. I'm not angry with you - are you still angry with me?"

"Of course not," Duncan said quickly. A little too quickly, Methos thought.

"Duncan," Methos said, turning his head to look at Duncan squarely. "One of my wives, my twenty-third, I believe, was the gentlest, kindest person I've ever known. One day her son - he would have been about four at the time - ran away from her at the market. Dashed right out in front of a wagon and barely escaped being killed. When she got to him, she pulled him tight against her breast with one hand - and with the other she gave him such a spanking that I don't think he sat for a week. Scolded his ears off, all while kissing him."

Duncan sighed. "I get your point."

"Good. Then maybe you'll _accept_ that you had a perfect right to be angry with me, and you'll forgive yourself." Methos pushed himself up out of the tub. "Now, I seem to recall someone saying something about a massage."

Duncan didn't give up so easily. He pulled the drain on the tub as he got out and grabbed a towel. "I just want you to know that, while I want these babies very much, I need you and love you more. If it came down to a choice, if something happened and Julian told me he could save either you or them, I'd choose you."

Methos whirled on him, fury in his eyes. "The hell you will!"

"Now what did I say wrong?" Duncan asked plaintively.

Methos advanced, pinning Duncan to the wall. "I'm Immortal, you idiot! If I die, as long as I've got my head, I'll come back. If _they_ die, they'll come back, too, but what do you think the chances of Immortal infants surviving are?"

Duncan closed his eyes. "I know," he said. "They'd...we have to..."

"Yes," Methos said grimly. "That's why we'll do _everything_ in our power to keep them alive. Even if it means letting me die. Do you hear me, Duncan MacLeod?"

"I hear you, but - "

"No 'buts'."

Duncan nodded, then sighed. "Do you think we'll ever be on the same page?"

Methos blinked at him, confused, and the anger faded from his face. "What?"

"It's just..." Duncan bit his lip, almost certain it was suicide to go on but he knew that he needed to say this. "I never know just how much I can admit to you about my feelings for the babies. What will be too much and make you angry with me."

He sat down on the bed and looked down at his hands so he wouldn't have to see the irritated look he knew would be on Methos' face. "I've always wanted children. And I know you said that _now_ you'd choose to have them if you had the choice, but you _didn't._ "

Duncan sighed, making a helpless gesture with his hand. "I know I'll never be able to completely convince you that I'd love you just as much without the babies. And I know you resent the way your whole life's been turned upside down because of one stupid fuck but...I love our children so much already and I can't regret..."

"Duncan."

He was stopped by a hand touching his shoulder and looked up to see Methos looking at him, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"It's all right." Methos straddled Duncan's lap, his hands resting on Duncan's shoulders as he looked into Duncan's eyes. "I give you permission to be as hopelessly in love with them as you want, now and after they're born. You can even make all those silly, gushy noises - just ignore me when I retch."

Duncan smiled but his eyes were still troubled, and Methos took his face between his hands. "Duncan, I really mean it. And if I ever say otherwise, ignore me. You know what a cranky bastard I can be at times."

Duncan's smiled widened, and he turned slightly to dump Methos onto the bed, following him down. "Yeah, I've heard rumors to that effect. Personally, I think you're a marshmallow."

"Now _that's_ hitting below the belt. What is it you and Joe have for marshmallows?"

"Must be because they remind us of a certain old Immortal. Especially when you toast a marshmallow over a campfire and it gets all crusty on the outside but gooey-soft inside."

Methos looked indignant but Duncan gave him a bone-melting kiss and he swallowed his complaints.

"How about that massage?" Duncan asked huskily when he released Methos' mouth. "I noticed you seem a little tense, and I'm sure I can do something about that."

"I'm sure you can," Methos murmured. He stretched out on the bed, his body saying quite plainly "all yours". Duncan fully intended to take him up on that invitation.

Duncan grabbed the massage oil off the bedside table and poured a generous amount in his hands to warm, then set to work. Slowly, he worked his way across Methos' shoulders, paying careful attention to the injured area, now only showing a faint scar. Duncan knew from personal experience that the muscle tissue in the area would be tender, so he worked over it with gentle fingers until Methos was almost a puddle.

He took equal care as he worked across Methos' abdomen, but for different reasons. Now halfway through the pregnancy, his body was displaying definite evidence of the life carried inside. Duncan's fingers moved slowly, tenderly, over the swelling abdomen, and he grinned as he felt an answering ripple of movement from inside.

He glanced up and found that Methos had his eyes closed, a contented smile on his face. Deciding to take him at his word, Duncan lingered with the massage, lavishing his attention on his spouse in lieu of the babies. He even dared to press a series of kisses in a line above the belly button where he'd felt that slight flutter.

Methos laughed softly. "No fair; that tickles." Duncan looked up with a grin and Methos said warningly, "Start a tickle-attack and you're joining Richie in the library."

Duncan laughed and, with a last brief caress across Methos' belly, he turned his attention elsewhere. By the time Duncan finished the massage with Methos' feet, his lover's body was limp and he was all but purring.

Duncan moved slowly back up the lean body, altering his touch this time to one designed to arouse. Methos groaned, and Duncan could see his cock twitch. Duncan was half-hard already, and the sight of Methos' arousal inflamed him even more.

He stopped again at Methos belly and looked up at him with a grin. "You know, I've never done this in front of an audience before."

Methos snorted. "As if. You forget: I've read your Chronicles."

Duncan chuckled and dropped his head so he could briefly tease Methos' nipples with his tongue before moving downward. Methos groaned and clutched the sheets as his lover's mouth descended over his cock, resisting the urge to thrust upwards. Duncan put his hands on Methos' hips to hold him in place, not wanting him to come too quickly. Their brief afternoon romp with hands and mouths had eased tensions and relieved their immediate needs, but Duncan craved a complete reconnection with his lover.

After teasing Methos for a few minutes, Duncan slid his hands down his thighs to his knees. He lifted Methos' legs and gently pressed them towards his chest while his mouth continued its downward trek. Duncan pressed his tongue against the opening to Methos' body, fluttering lightly against it, and heard a heartfelt groan from his lover. A moment later, the tube of lubricant bounced off Duncan's head.

He looked up with a grin. "Is that a hint?"

Methos lifted his head from the pillows and glared down at Duncan. "If you're not inside me in two minutes, I'm going to take up where Connor left off."

"Spousal abuse," Duncan complained, even as he popped the lid on the lubricant and squirted a generous amount on his hand.

" _One_ minute, MacLeod."

Duncan chuckled and slid a lubricated finger inside, hearing another groan as he did. Methos' body opened readily to him, and a moment later, Duncan was sliding in, feeling as if he was truly home for the first time in weeks.

Fully seated inside his lover, he leaned down to take Methos' mouth as well, then pulled him up until he was straddling Duncan's lap. He kept the kiss slow and languorous, as slow as the gentle thrusting he started with his hips. Methos wrapped his long legs around Duncan's waist but made no attempt to hurry the pace.

They rocked together, their hands and mouths moving over each other's bodies, relearning territory. As their kisses heated up, the rhythm of their rocking increased as well, until both were panting for air and reaching for release. Methos found his first, gasping Duncan's name as he came. Duncan lowered his sated lover back down to the bed and increased the pace of his thrusting until he, too, came.

Duncan kept from collapsing on top of Methos through sheer willpower, propping his upper body on his elbows so they could continue kissing. He kept up his slow, lazy thrusting as well, milking out the last of his orgasm.

"You're insatiable," Methos murmured.

"Complaining?" Duncan asked, finally easing out and turning them both on their sides.

"Does it look like I'm complaining?" Methos shifted slightly so he could wrap an arm around Duncan. "We really should wash up."

"Mmm," Duncan agreed, tucking Methos' head under his chin. "The bed's a wreck, too."

"Not to mention our feet are on the pillows," Methos pointed out between yawns as he tangled Duncan's feet with his own.

"And all the blankets are under us," Duncan added, cuddling Methos closer.

Methos' answer was a slight snore, which Duncan seemed to find completely reasonable. A moment later, he was sound asleep as well.

 

* * *

 

Richie met Duncan's eyes across the breakfast table without a blush, proving the soundproofing qualities of the house's thick walls. He was full of plans for the day, plans which Methos readily approved. It was fortunate for Duncan's nerves that Methos was still easily fatigued and agreed to devote his energies to unpacking the boxes stacked in the library: he had visions of Methos clambering across the roof in search of loose tiles or crawling into chimneys.

Duncan left Methos in the library, happily unpacking his books and lovingly installing them on shelves, and headed topside with Richie. The red tile roof showed signs of recent repair, probably done by the last owner, and only a few needed replacement. He and Richie were making a note of those when his car and a rental pulled up the drive, followed by a large moving van.

Duncan went back down the ladder, ducking inside the house to grab some paperwork before going to meet the truck. It was, as he'd expected, the delivery from Seacouver, and Duncan directed the driver to pull up in front of the end building. Since that part of the house needed the most work to make it habitable, it could also serve as a storage area for now.

Methos wandered out of the house, hands stuffed in his back pockets, and surveyed the moving van with interest. "What's that?"

"My things from Seacouver," Duncan replied as he sorted through papers in his hands.

"From the loft?" Richie asked, puzzled. "Why'd you have it all sent here?"

"Because I'm giving the dojo to you," Duncan told Richie. "In fact, I'm giving you the whole building."

Richie's mouth dropped open and he stared at Duncan in dumb-founded amazement. "But - but - why?"

Duncan reached out to grasp Richie's shoulder. "I thought about selling the place, but I figured you might appreciate it more than some stranger. It's yours, Richie, to do what you want with." He handed Richie a folder of papers. "It's all there: the deed to the building, the dojo accounts signed over to you, and a starter fund to take care of expenses and for whatever renovations you want to do."

Richie looked stunned. "I don't know what to say."

Duncan smiled. "You don't have to say anything. And I'm not going to be poking my nose into the place, so you don't need to worry about that. In fact, if you decide you want to sell it and do something else with the money, that's okay with me, too. Just do something that will make _you_ happy, okay?"

"Okay," Richie said, dazed.

"I'm not chasing you off, either," Duncan said. "You're welcome to spend as much time here as you want."

"Thanks," Richie said. "I appreciate that but...you're right. I've been kinda feeling unsettled, like I want a place of my own, you know?" He drew a deep breath, dragged a sleeve across his eyes, and then said, "Well, I better see what Joe has lined up for me to do next."

As Richie hurried off, Methos said quietly, "Nice idea, Mac; I know it isn't easy, sending your boy off into the world."

Duncan glanced sideways at Methos and then looked away. "It's not the first time. And at least now I'll know where he is - in theory."

"Right," Methos said skeptically. "And by the way, I know you didn't have enough in the loft to fill up that many crates," he added, gesturing to where the moving people were removing storage containers from the truck.

Duncan shrugged. "You're right. I also cleared out my warehouses."

It was Methos' turn to look stunned. "You...why?"

"Because I won't be going back to Seacouver," he said. "Except for visits to Richie, of course." He gave Methos a half-smile. "Think I'd better warn Joe about that, huh?"

Methos appeared to still be stuck on Duncan's first statement. "Not...are you serious?"

Duncan nodded. "I told you: _this_ is home. Here, with you. Not just 'for now'. Forever."

Methos drew in a deep, shuddering breath and reached up to cup Duncan's cheek with his hand. "Duncan MacLeod, you never cease to amaze me."

He followed the touch with a kiss, and Duncan wound his arms around Methos' body as he deepened it. An exasperated voice from nearby made them reluctantly resurface.

"You two _still_ at it?"

Duncan turned his head to grin at Joe. "Can I help it if he finds me irresistible?"

Methos snorted and shoved at Duncan's chest. "You wish."

"Nope, I know." Duncan's grin widened but he let Methos go. "So, what's on the schedule?"

Joe consulted his clipboard. "Being Sunday, we won't see any of the service people out here today. A couple of the upstairs bedrooms need a little paintwork done and then they're finished. And all the windows still need to be cleaned."

Duncan nodded. "Sounds good. Richie and I checked out the roof tiles and found some that need replacing, so we'll need to get a roofer."

Joe nodded, adding it to his list. "What about that stuff?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the movers.

"Furniture from the loft and my warehouses," Duncan said, walking slowly towards the truck with Joe. Methos had already wandered over and was watching the unloading process with interest. "I thought we'd store it in the large downstairs room until I decide what I'm going to do with it."

Joe nodded and watched the movers unload an exquisite 18th century dresser from one of the crates. "Nice stuff," he commented. "You know, Mac, a lot of that stuff could be moved right into the rooms. Save you time and trouble later, unless you don't know where you want them."

Duncan shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it much, although that dresser would be nice in the guest room for Amanda. I'm pretty sure there's a bed frame to go with it, too."

"I want that," Methos said suddenly, pointing. "For the library."

Duncan smiled, seeing that Methos meant his old green couch. "Good memories?"

Methos gave him an amused look. "That, and it fits my body so nicely." He stepped over to the movers and directed them to take the piece into the main wing. Then his eyes caught sight of another piece of furniture and he grinned. "Now _that_ I have even fonder memories of."

Duncan raised an eyebrow; Methos was pointing to his bed from the loft. "Memories?"

"Well, fantasies, actually," he amended.

"Is _that_ what you were doing, that time I came home to find you sprawled across my bed," Duncan asked. "Fantasizing?"

Methos' eyes gleamed wickedly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I think I'm too young for this conversation," Joe said dryly.

"Why don't we put it in our bedroom?" Methos asked suddenly.

"But your bed's already there."

Methos made a dismissive move. "That was only temporarily, and I know you hate it.  You groan every time you get up."

Duncan hesitated, unsure why he was  reluctant to put his old bed in their room. Maybe it was because of the ghosts of past lovers in that bed, but all he knew was that it felt _wrong_. "Why don't we put both our beds in the guest rooms, and get something...special for our own?"

"Special?" Methos asked, a gleam in his eye. "Are we talking special, as in a four poster with rings set in it and a storage drawer underneath for the toys?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Guys, we're getting into too-much-information-land again."

"He's kidding, Joe," Duncan said, and glared at Methos who just shrugged unrepentantly. "And I meant special, as in something that's not yours or mine but _ours_."

"You're a born romantic, Mac," Methos said lightly, "and I've got boxes of books to get sorted out, so do whatever you want." But the way he brushed against Duncan as he headed back towards the house made him feel flushed and aroused for a long time afterwards.

 

* * *

By mid-afternoon, the movers had finished unloading the truck. The pieces Duncan had decided on for the various guest rooms had been carted up and the rest of the furniture had been stacked into the room that would eventually become their living room.

Julian and Duncan conferred about the delivery room and nursery, and Julian compiled of list of medical equipment they would need before returning to Paris with the borrowed van.

Alex had recruited Richie and Johnny for the window-washing team while Connor and Joe finished painting the guest rooms. The furniture in those rooms was piled in the center of the floor and would need to be moved into place once the paint was dry, and they still needed bedding and decorative touches like curtains. But, on the whole, Duncan was pleased with what they'd done so far.

The library, however, was in a worse shambles than when they began. Opened cartons were everywhere and stacks of books littered every surface. Duncan could only guess that they were sorted in some sort of order apparent only to Methos.

He located his spouse tucked into a corner between a bookcase and a tower of boxes, head bowed over a tome in his lap. Methos' hair was dusty, a smudge decorated his cheek, and he was oblivious to the world.

"Methos!" Duncan said in exasperation.

"Hmm?" Methos didn't even look up.

"You're supposed to be sorting and putting away, not reading! It's supper time and you've put, what, five books on the shelves!"

Methos looked up and then around, seeming surprised to see how late in the afternoon it was. "Oh. Sorry, Mac. I came across a copy of Die Grimmsmarchen I'd forgotten I had. I'm afraid I got a bit absorbed."

"A _bit_?" Duncan snorted and hauled him off the floor. "And what is this with children's books lately? First that novel and now fairy tales."

Methos gave him a 'Dr. Pierson, Ph.D.' look. "Fairy tales are _not_ just children's stories, despite Disney. They were originally told to adults more than children, and many of them have adult themes and erotic subtext."

Duncan glanced down at the book in Methos' hands. "In that case, I don't think you'll be reading any of those to the kids till they're older. Like fifty."

Methos snorted as he carefully set the book down on a shelf, left open at the page he was reading. "I'm telling you, Mac, they're going to run away from home."

"And I keep telling _you:_ convent schools."

After washing off the dust and dirt, they joined the rest of the clan out on the terrace where a buffet table had been set up for supper.

They were talking about what needed to be done over the next few days when a tingle of Presence made all four Immortals turn to look over at the driveway. A moment later, Amanda and Nick came strolling around the side of the house from the parking area.

"I see you started the party without us," Amanda called out as she approached.

"And the work as well," Richie pointed out. "Glad you _finally_ made it."

Amanda smirked at him. "Why, Richie! Don't you know that it's impolite to come to a house-warming party without a gift?" She produced a sword and stabbed it into the ground in front of Methos.

"Amanda, you shouldn't have," Methos said dryly.

Duncan frowned as he pulled out the sword. "This isn't yours. Where'd you get it?"

Amanda sauntered over to the table and poured a drink. "Another Immortal who'll no longer be needing it left it to me," she said airily.

Methos' eyes narrowed. "Let me guess. Waterman got sprung from jail and you just happened to be waiting for him when he got out. Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried that?"

She shrugged. "I learn from past mistakes."

"Amanda!" Duncan protested. "That was dangerous!"

Amanda rolled her eyes. "I'm a big girl, Duncan. I'm not an idiot, and I _have_ been taking care of myself for a long time."

"This sounds familiar," Duncan muttered, glaring over at Methos.

"I couldn't let him just run around loose, could I? If they've been following Adam, they probably found out about this place so you wouldn't be safe here. Besides," she said, her face darkening. "They hurt Adam. He may be an asshole, but he's _our_ asshole."

Methos burst out laughing. "Why, Amanda! I didn't know you cared!"

"Of course I care," she said, pretending to be affronted. "Even though you hardly deserve it, after that trick you pulled on me."

"And I didn't forget you, Duncan, darling," she said, handing him a shirt box.

Duncan gave her a curious look and opened the box, lifting out a green silk shirt. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "It's the shirt you had made for Adam. My favorite. The one he was wearing the night..." Duncan's voice trailed off and he managed a watery smile for Amanda.

Amanda smiled and leaned over to brush a kiss across his cheek. "You're welcome," she whispered. Leaning back, she gave Methos a critical look. "Well, you're certainly looking better than the last time I saw you. Country living seems to be good for you."

"Very good," Methos said. "All that fresh air and rest and exercise." There was an impish look in his eyes as he glanced over at Duncan, and the Scot flushed slightly.

Amanda grinned. "I'll bet. Now, where is that hot spring I've heard so much about?"

Richie and Johnny exchanged a look. "Pool party!" they announced with glee.

Methos rolled his eyes. "I might have known."

"Hey, you _owe_ me," Amanda said, punching him lightly on the chest. "So, where can I stash my bag and change?"

Duncan gave her an amused, affectionate look. "Take your pick of the bedrooms upstairs except for the middle one. Rich, would you show Amanda and Nick the way?"

Richie readily led them upstairs and Johnny followed to borrow a pair of Richie's swimming trunks. Methos gave Duncan an amused look.

"Well, now that the children are gone, whatever shall we do with ourselves?" he asked.

"Finish putting away the books in the library," Duncan informed him, and Methos groaned. "Come on; you made the mess, you clean it up, remember?"

"I never said that. Besides, if you leave me alone in the library..."

Duncan hauled Methos up from the chair. "If I leave you alone, you'll go back to reading and nothing will get shelved. I'll help."

"Boss me around, is more like it," Methos muttered, following his spouse into the library.

"You like it when I'm bossy," Duncan said, then reached out to pull Methos against him and murmured in his ear, "And if you're very good, I'll let you take me to bed and tell me all about those erotic fairy tales."

"It'll be my pleasure."


	50. Chapter 50

"Mac, did you know Cameron is moving up in popularity, but for girls instead of boys?"

Duncan looked at his spouse, lying on the bed with a half-dozen books spread around him, and smiled. It wasn't unusual to see Methos surrounded by books, but these were baby name books and it tickled Duncan immensely.

"No, I wasn't aware of that," Duncan said, critically studying the coat of wood varnish he'd just finished applying to the mantle in the master bedroom. It was one of the last things that needed to be done to their room, and he wanted it to be perfect.

It had been a month since they'd moved to Les Tardes and the place was coming together nicely. The electrical and plumbing work had been completed on the main house, and the wiring for the workshop and training salle had been started.  The three guestrooms on the upper floor of the kitchen wing were completed, furnished with antiques from both Duncan and Methos' personal collections. Duncan had been completely taken by surprise two weeks earlier when a moving van had arrived with a shipment from England: Methos' London stash, boxed and moved to Les Tardes. More books, of course, but there were also furnishings and decorative pieces collected over a very long lifetime.

They had spent a good part of the next week unpacking, partly because Duncan had to ask the story behind nearly every piece unwrapped. Now the downstairs room of what they were calling "Joe's wing" was crammed full of furniture and objects d'art, but the rest of the house was settling nicely.

Joe's room was nearly complete as well, now that the fireplace had been mended. The antiquated half-bath had been removed and new handicap-accessible fixtures installed. They had finished applying a second coat of paint a few days earlier, and the adjustable bed and lounge chair they'd ordered had arrived the previous day. The room still needed personal touches, but there was plenty in the storage room from which Joe could pick. Duncan could hardly wait to see his face when he got a look at the room.

Their room was now complete. Duncan had uncovered a treasure amongst Methos' furnishings, a beautiful oak bed-frame Methos had acquired but never used. Both agreed that it answered their needs: large enough for the two of them and unassociated with past romances. It had been installed in the master bedroom while Methos' bed was moved to Richie's room.

The guest rooms were unoccupied now, all of his extended clan having returned to their own lives. Connor had seen that a state-of-the-art security system was in place before he and his family returned home for the start of school. Joe had spent a week at Les Tardes, helping get things organized, before reluctantly going back to Paris. Nick and Amanda had stayed on another week, assisting with decorating the house.

Richie had remained behind longer than the rest, helping Duncan refinish the floor in the training salle. He had departed for Seacouver just a few days earlier, eager to look over his new property. Duncan had been pleased by Richie's obvious excitement over the dojo, even though he now missed him. It would be weeks before they saw Richie again since he planned to have several contractors take a look at the property and submit bids on the renovation.

For the first time in a month, it was just Duncan and Methos. And even though Duncan had loved having his extended clan around him, it was good to be alone in their new house.

Methos was sprawled across their bed, absorbed in one of the dozens of naming books he'd ordered from a new Internet bookseller. Thinking of the combination of the Internet, books, and Methos made Duncan fear for the family finances, but at least it kept the older Immortal out of trouble.

Methos had more than regained his health after his convalescence. In fact, he seemed to have tapped into a limitless source of energy. Duncan worriedly consulted the pregnancy books, relieved to find this was common in the second trimester, although Methos seemed to be taking it to extremes in his usual fashion. Duncan was never quite sure where he'd find the other man if left to his own resources. It was a good thing Duncan was Immortal or he'd have had a coronary by now. On more than one occasion, he'd found Methos up a ladder trying to fix something, or struggling to drag furniture up the circular stairs to the second floor of "Joe's wing". This sudden obsession with baby names was a blessing in Duncan's opinion, and he'd have ordered every baby naming book ever printed if it made Methos happy.

Duncan smiled over at Methos. "What other earth-shattering news do you have for me?"

Methos looked up at him reprovingly. "I'm serious, Mac. A child's name can have a far-reaching impact on his or her life. The names we choose for them can affect their achievements in school and sports, socialization among their peers, success at work, even their marriages."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "I think you're taking that a bit far, don't you? How could a name affect a child that much?"

"This from the only Immortal I know who's never changed his name."

Duncan retorted, "And you've changed your name so many times over your life, how can you possibly think that whatever name we give the children will matter so much?"

"What makes you think I don't choose my aliases carefully? Ask other Immortals and they'll tell you the same. However, each of us holds onto the name we had at First death, shared with our closest friends."

Duncan looked at Methos curiously. "Methos was your true name?"

Methos sighed. "I don't know. I remember taking my first head, and then someone who might have been my teacher calling me 'Methos' afterward."   He gave Duncan a pointed look. "Of course, I didn't go around announcing myself as 'Methos' to everyone for hundreds of years."

Duncan acknowledged Methos' comment with a slight shrug. "Duncan MacLeod is who I am, not because of the meaning behind the names or the rhythmic pattern, but because that's who I was raised to be. Our children will become what they are meant to be whether their names are James or - or Tiberius."

Methos glared. "If you name him Tiberius, I'll _help_ him pack to run away from home."

"And Methos is so much better?" Duncan teased.  He decided that another coat of varnish wasn't needed and began cleaning his brush.

"And what, exactly, is wrong with the name 'Methos'?" Methos demanded before pointedly retreating behind his book again.

Duncan's lips twitched with amusement at having scored a point off the older Immortal. He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag, and walked over to the bed. Tilting his head slightly, he read the title of the book.

"'Beyond Jennifer & Jason, Madison & Montana'? Are you choosing names or planning a trip?"

Methos remained barricaded behind the book. "As a matter of fact, Duncan MacLeod, those are popular baby names, and this book is all about naming trends, and how to follow or avoid them."

Duncan plucked the book out of Methos' hands and turned to the table of contents. "Let's see...'What's Hot', 'So Far Out They're In' - is this baseball or baby names?"

Methos made an attempt to grab the book back. "Dammit, Mac! Give it back! You'll get varnish on the pages!"

Duncan moved so he couldn't get the book. " 'So Far In They're Out'...Oh, look! A chapter called 'But I've Always Adored Amanda'."

"I'm fond of the little vixen, too, but we are _not_ calling our daughter Amanda!"

Duncan laughed and surrendered the book. "Fair enough. Aunt Amanda will be far too bad an influence on her as it is, no sense asking for more trouble."

Methos was giving him an irritated look,  not that Duncan minded. Methos' patented 'I'm pissed at you, but you live for the moment because it's too much trouble to kill you' look was one of Duncan's favorites. Next to the look on Methos' face in that instant before he climaxed, of course.  That thought made certain parts of Duncan's anatomy wake up and take notice, and Duncan grinned as plans began to form in his mind. "Why don't I wash up and then we can go soak in the spring for awhile?" he asked, leaning over to drop a kiss on Methos head.

Methos stretched, cat-like, and looked up at him, interest warring with residual irritation. "You're only suggesting that because the kids are gone and we can have the place to ourselves."

Duncan's grin widened. "Yeah." He kissed Methos, a slow, lingering kiss. "Have you got a problem with that?"

Methos' eyes slid shut as he enjoyed the kiss to its full extent. No matter how annoyed he got with Duncan, the fact remained that the man could kiss like an angel - or a devil. "Not a one."

He carefully marked his place in the naming book and set it aside while Duncan went into the bathroom to clean his hands. Methos swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, then clutched at the night table as a sudden wave of dizziness swept over him.

Duncan's arm was around him immediately, steadying him, and he asked worriedly, "Methos? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mac," Methos assured him. "Just stood up a little too quickly."

Duncan didn't look reassured. "Are you sure? Should I call Julian?"

Methos sighed. "I'm _fine_ , Mac. Dizziness is common during pregnancy. If you don't believe me, you can ask Julian when he comes up this weekend. Or consult that bloody pregnancy book. You seem to think it's the Bible."

"All right," Duncan said, still a little doubtfully. "If you say so." He rubbed Methos' lower back slightly. "Ready for that soak?"

"More than ready."

Methos led the way down to the warm springs and shed his clothing, and Duncan watched the disrobing with interest. He would never tire of seeing that long, lean body, pregnant or not, even if he lived to be a thousand - or five thousand.

Methos slipped into the warm, slightly bubbling water, and glanced over at Duncan. Catching him watching, Methos smirked. "Are you going to stand there all night, watching me and getting hornier? Or are you going to get in here and do something about it?"

Duncan didn't need a second invitation.

 

* * *

 

"Abigail?"

"No. Dyson?"

"Not on your life, Methos. Beatrice?"

After two days of listening as Methos pored over the naming books, Duncan had finally given up and joined in. He was now settled at one end of the couch with "Jennifer & Jason" while Methos was stretched out at the other end, a copy of "What to Name Your Baby" in his hands and his bare feet in Duncan's lap. Duncan absently massaged them as he flipped through the pages, shaking his head at the names some people chose for their kids.

Methos gave him an amused look. "And then name the boy Benedict? How about Morrison? You know, I once knew - "

" _No_ ," Duncan said emphatically, "And if you try to tell me you knew Jim Morrison..."

"Me?" Methos gave him an innocent look. "No, I was thinking of Sophie Morrison, a girl I knew about a hundred years ago."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "Right. I thought we weren't going to bring up past lovers."

"No, I said _you_ weren't supposed to bring up past lovers. I never said that _I_ wouldn't."

"Someone is going the right way for a smacked bottom," Duncan warned with a grin.

A melodic note played on the room's speaker system. Both of them recognized the  alert from the security system that someone had entered the main gate.

"Company," Methos said lightly.

"Joe and Julian, I expect. And just in time to save your sorry hide."

Methos raised an eyebrow as he gave Duncan a speculative look. "More threats? Just what are they saving my sorry hide from? And how do you know I wouldn't enjoy it?"

Duncan's lips twitched. "That's what I'm afraid of. Talk about me and _my_ kinks."

Methos looked up at Duncan through his lashes, a teasing grin on his face, and rubbed his hand over his belly. Duncan swallowed, not sure if he should be worried that Methos knew his turn-ons so well.

Since that night a month ago when Methos had first let Duncan caress and kiss his belly, Duncan hadn't even bothered to hide his fascination with Methos' ripening body. During the day, he found himself touching Methos for any reason at all or for no reason in particular. He couldn't fall asleep at night unless he had one hand resting on the swollen abdomen.  He couldn't even explain to his lover why he found Methos' changed body so beautiful and erotic. He remembered mortal friends saying the same thing about their pregnant wives and his longing to share that experience. The reality, however, was so much more intense than his fantasies.

Duncan tore his eyes away from his lover. Much as he'd like to drag his spouse up to their room, they had company and he couldn't leave them sitting in the car outside. Although, knowing Joe, he'd probably just let himself in and then pound on the bedroom door.

Duncan opened the front door, watching the car as it came into sight. It was Julian's car, he realized, and smiled. That meant Joe had managed to wrangle a week off to spend with them. Methos was going to be delighted.

"Hello!" Duncan called out as he walked towards the car. "You made good time."

"Traffic was pretty decent," Joe agreed as he pulled himself out of the car. "Good thing, too, 'cause Julian drove like a bat outta hell. I think he forgot he had a mere mortal in the car."

"You have to drive like that on the A-10," Julian said, not in the least offended by the criticism. "Otherwise you'll get run over."

Duncan went to the trunk to help with the luggage, and then grinned at the sight of the other item stuffed in with the suitcases. It was a large, white, stuffed rabbit with a vibrant red bow around its neck. Duncan looked at Joe, amused.

The Watcher shrugged. "For the nursery, Mac. Kids gotta have stuffed animals, you know."

"Softie," Duncan teased. He tucked the stuffed animal under one arm and pulled out Joe's suitcase.

"Julian, we've put you in the guest room to the left at the top of the stairs. Methos didn't think you'd appreciate the 'feminine touches' Amanda applied to the other room, and Richie's claimed the middle one." Julian nodded and carried his suitcase inside.

"Joe, your room is just about finished. We'd better use the outside entrance; the main room is so full of stuff it's hard to get in from this end." Duncan led the way to the far building and opened the door to the downstairs bedroom.

Carrying the suitcase over to the bed, he said, "The structural work is done. We thought you might like to pick out the rest of the furniture for the room. God knows we have plenty for you to choose from."

Joe looked around the room. The last time he'd been here, it had been a shambles. The previous owners hadn't touched it, and since the place had been abandoned for ten years, there had been some damage to repair. He could see they had put in a lot of work to get this room in decent shape. And, to top that off, the thoughtfulness of providing him with an adjustable bed and chair touched him deeply.

Joe cleared his throat and nodded. "Sounds great. How's Methos doing, by the way? He sounded pretty good on the phone."

Duncan smiled and Joe was delighted to see that carefree look again. The last time he'd been here, Duncan had still been dealing with the after-effects of Methos' challenge and he'd been heavily weighted by guilt. It appeared that more than Methos' body had healed.

"He's doing great and bulging even more now. Just wait till you see him. And his energy level is up. It's all I can do to keep up with him. The babies are moving quite a bit, too."

Joe chuckled. "You sound like quite the proud papa. I take it things are better now?"

Duncan sat on the edge of the bed, not appearing to realize he was stroking the stuffed animal in his hands, and nodded. "We're still working out some issues, but I think being here has made it easier for both of us. Methos loves his job. His boss was practically drooling over the work he did for his first assignment, a translation from Eleanor of Aquitaine's time, apparently."

Joe shook his head, smiling. "Guess he just can't do anything scholarly by halves, huh?"

"Yeah." Duncan was still stroking the rabbit in his arms.

Grinning, Joe said, "You like the bunny, Mac?"

Duncan looked startled and glanced down, then grinned back. "It's a _nice_ bunny."

"Right. Just remember that it's for the _babies_ , Mac."

"They'll be too young to appreciate it for years. Besides, you really expect kids to _share_? You'll have to do better than that, Uncle Joe."

"Duplicate gifts. Got it. So I should take this back, then?"

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary." Duncan held up the rabbit, as if studying its face. "He should have a name. Harvey, I think."

"Seems appropriate," Joe said dryly. "You know Methos is gonna have a fit if you bring that thing to bed with you."

Duncan chuckled. "You're a sick man, Joe Dawson. And speaking of Methos, we'd better get over to the library or he'll accuse me of hoarding you to myself."

They walked slowly back over to the main part of the house, Joe filling Duncan in on the news from Paris as they went.

As they entered the library, Duncan called out, "Look what Joe brought us."

Methos surveyed the stuffed animal with amusement. "Joe, you shouldn't have. And I mean that in all seriousness."

Joe grinned but shrugged as he settled into the armchair. "Figured I'd get first crack at baby-gift giving. Mac's taken quite a shine to it."

Methos rolled his eyes. "I knew you were a big kid, but I thought you had more taste."

"Hey!" Duncan protested, covering the rabbit's ears. "Harvey will hear you."

"Harvey? You named the stuffed _rabbit_ but you can't come up with names for your _children_?"

"It was a hell of a lot easier naming the rabbit," Duncan said, feelingly. He sat down on the couch, setting the stuffed animal between them.

Joe chuckled. "Yeah, I can see already who's gonna be raiding the toy stores."

Julian smiled as well, settling back in the throne chair by the window. "You know Amanda's proposing a baby shower for you two, don't you?"

Methos made a face. "You have _got_ to be kidding."

"Don't knock it," Joe replied. "Babies are expensive - the more stuff you get from your friends, the better. And she'll only invite those of us in the know."

"How are you going to explain the babies to your _other_ friends?" Julian asked.

"I already laid the groundwork with Gina, told her we were planning to adopt after the first of the year."

Julian nodded. "Good plan." He paused. "Of course, as they get older and clearly look like the two of you, there may be some questions raised, so you should be prepared for that."

Joe glanced curiously at the books piled on the couch beside Methos. "Baby name books? You _still_ working on names, Methos? I thought you'd have decided by now."

"We've got one name apiece so far, but trying to find other names to fit is tough."

"What names have you got so far?"

The two exchanged a look and then, with a half smile, Duncan said, "Joseph for the boy and Julia or Juliana for the girl."

Joe and Julian sat stunned for a long moment, and Methos couldn't help laughing at the look on their faces. "Mac, I think you better pinch them or something."

"You're kidding, aren't you?" Joe finally said, and Duncan shook his head, still smiling. "I, well, I gotta say I didn't expect this. I thought you'd name them after your parents, Mac."

Duncan shrugged. "There's already a Mary named for my mother, even if I don't see her much any more. And Methos suggested Ian but..." His voice trailed off as he looked away from them and over at the bookcases.

"Let's just say Mac has unresolved issues with his father," Methos said, the concerned look he gave Duncan belying the casual statement. "We haven't eliminated the idea completely, but it'd be tough for the little guy, living up to the name of Ian MacLeod."

"If you keep MacLeod's last name, it'll be tough on them anyways," Julian murmured.

Methos shot Duncan a look. "It's not like Mac's going to change his name anytime soon."

Duncan said, a long-suffering note in his voice, "I told you: if it gets that bad, I'll change it."

Joe said hastily, "So, Pierson-MacLeod isn't going to be the surname, I take it."

"MacLeod's enough of a mouthful, and it's not like Pierson is my real last name." 

"Speaking of names, I hear you're making quite a name for yourself in academic circles," Joe said. "Mac says the job is going well, that you got a lot of kudos from the first assignment."

Methos gave a self-depreciating shrug. "Hard not to do a good translating job when you wrote the original."

"Oh, yeah? And what would your name have been then?" the Watcher asked.

"I wrote anonymously. Never much cared for all the intrigues at Eleanor's Court. But I used to collaborate with some of the minstrels." He paused. "Ever hear of André le Chapelain or maybe Andreas Cappellanus?"

"The one who wrote 'The Art of Loving Nobly'?" Duncan said incredulously. "You?"

"What, me write the 'Rules of Love'? 'An easy attainment makes love contemptible; a difficult one makes it more dear'?" Methos snorted. "Don't be daft! No, I translated Ovid's 'Ars Amatoria' for him, more's the pity. It would have been fine if he hadn't gotten hold of some list from Arthur's court.  Made him go and invent _Courtly Love_ and chivalry and all that nonsense."

The others pelted him with books.

 

* * *

 

The medical equipment was delivered the next day, and Duncan watched them unload boxes of supplies with growing trepidation. The delivery bed with its drop-away end seemed harmless enough at first. However, when they started attaching poles to it for drip bags and sensor relays, his stomach knotted. The array of electronic leads and monitors they unloaded made him pull Julian aside. 

"Do you really need all this stuff?" he asked Julian. He knew his voice was sharp by the way Julian looked at him, but he didn't care. "And what's that?" he asked, pointing at a plastic box resembling a gerbil habitat. There were holes on the side with strange rubber seals over the openings and more of monitors attached to it.

"Life-support equipment, in case of premature birth," Julian replied.

Duncan said, "I thought they were okay."

Julian grasped Duncan by the elbow and towed him out of the room so the medical personnel could continue to work. Out on the privacy of the terrace, he gestured for Duncan to have a seat and sat down across from him.

"Mac, twins are always at a greater risk for premature delivery, no matter how healthy the 'mother' or how normal the pregnancy. Add that to the fact that a _male_ is carrying them, and the odds of Methos delivering the children before term go up exponentially."

Duncan's throat felt dry. "How premature?" he asked, thinking of pictures he'd seen of impossibly tiny babies with wires taped all over their fragile bodies.

"The majority of twin pregnancies end before the thirty-seventh week." At the horrified look on Duncan's face, he added quickly, "Successfully, Mac, so don't panic. Methos is doing very well, so there's every chance that he'll carry to at least thirty-six weeks, at which point we'll do a C-section to take the babies."

"How dangerous will it be for Methos and the babies, to deliver them that early?"

"For Methos, no more dangerous than delivering them at term. Less, actually, since he'll skip all the stress on his body from the final month. If they make it to thirty-six weeks, the babies will be fine." Julian paused. "Any earlier than that...well, there's a reason why pregnancy lasts forty weeks. The longer a baby remains inside the womb, the greater chance it has of maturing fully. Preterm babies can suffer from a number of complications: immature lungs, disabilities, heart abnormalities...Are you okay?"

Duncan felt a firm hand on his back, pushing his head forward and down. "Breathe, MacLeod," Julian said firmly.

"I'm all right," Duncan said faintly, struggling to sit back up. "I just never...I thought having twins was wonderful, a miracle. I just didn't realize how dangerous..."

"It _is_ wonderful," Julian said reassuringly, "and most definitely a miracle. But, yes, it's also dangerous. Having the equipment here to care for preterm babies is a necessary precaution."

"If they are...if Methos delivers early...can you handle that yourself?"

Julian didn't seem to be offended in the least by Duncan questioning his abilities. Instead, he smiled. "Mac, I'm not your run of the mill OB/GYN. I deal strictly with patients with fertility problems. Since I use in-vitro fertilization and fertility drugs on many of my patients, I see multiple pregnancies ten times more often than your average doctor. And I am qualified and certified to handle premature deliveries, both for the mother and the child. I'm a licensed pediatric physician as well as an ob-gyn."

He paused for a moment. "Having said that, I _would_ like to bring in another doctor to assist, if you and Methos don't mind."

"A mortal?"

Julian shook his head. "Grace Chandel. I'm considering bringing her into my practice."

"Does she know about Immortal pregnancies?"

"I believe she has suspicions, although I think her interest is in where the rest of Immortals come from. I know we can rely on her discretion."

Duncan nodded. "I've known Grace for centuries. I trust her but Methos would have to agree."

Julian nodded. "I'll talk it over with him. If he agrees, I'd like to settle Grace here during the last month. Earlier if we have to put him on bed rest.  Just as a precaution, you understand."

"If you have to put him on bed rest, we'll need all the help we can get," Duncan said, shuddering at the thought of trying to restrict his irascible mate's movements. "Not to mention restraints and gags. Oh, and tranquilizers; not for Methos, for me."

Julian laughed. "I'll give you pointers on dealing with His Majesty the Impossible, don't worry." He tilted his head slightly, studying Duncan's face. "It'll be all right; you'll see. Now, why don't you take a few minutes to pull yourself together. The last thing Methos needs is to see you looking like he's under a death sentence."

Duncan nodded and Julian clasped his shoulder reassuringly. "Good man." He headed back in to finish supervising the delivery room set up, while Duncan stared up at the sky and wondered, with a touch of bitterness, why every bright cloud in his life had a dark lining.

 

* * *

 

Julian left the next day, satisfied with both the set-up of the delivery room and Methos' progress. Joe stayed with them a week, quickly settling into his new room. He spent a lot of time with Methos, kibitzing about names for the babies and amusing him with the latest Watcher gossip. In the evenings, Joe would pull out his guitar and entertain them, and Methos would occasionally join in. Duncan enjoyed the music even though it made him feel a little guilty. Methos really was a "people person" and Duncan regretted pulling Methos away from Paris, even if the need to relocate to holy ground had been urgent.

Mid-week, Duncan ran up to Tours to supervise the disposition of some furniture they'd decided to get rid of, leaving Joe to keep an eye on the place. Joe was more than happy to Methos-sit, pleased to spend some time with the old Immortal without feeling like a third wheel.

After seeing Duncan off, Joe went back in the house in search of Methos. He found him in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, and peered into the pot.

"Do I want to know what that is?"

Methos didn't even look up. "It's just a basic pasta sauce."

"Basic for who - you, or normal people?"

Methos looked sideways at him with amused exasperation. "Don't you trust me, Joe?"

"You, yeah. Your cooking..."

"I've been cooking for centuries, Joe, and I promise my cooking hasn't killed anyone." He paused. "Well, not _accidentally_ , at any rate."

"Oh, that makes me feel a hell of a lot better." Joe fetched two bottled waters and set them on the table. "Need me to do anything?"

"Salads are in the fridge."

Joe pulled out a salad bowl and peered into it. "This must be yours. I can't identify anything in it, not even the lettuce. I'm assuming this ragged purple stuff is lettuce." He set it down by Methos' plate, then fetched the other.

"Come on, Joe," Methos said, draining the noodles in the sink. "Live  dangerously."

"Thanks, but I'll pass. I got plenty of danger in my life just hanging around with you clowns." Joe noticed that Methos was leaning on the counter, a slightly pained look on his face. "You okay, buddy? The babies kicking a lot?"

"No, just contractions," Methos said absently, rubbing his abdomen with one hand.

Joe's eyes widened and he hobbled over to Methos. "Damn! I'll call Mac; he can't have gotten very far."

"Relax, Joe," Methos said, grabbing Joe's hand before he could pull out his cell phone. "They're just Braxton-Hicks contractions."

"You sure?" Joe asked, eying him nervously. "Shouldn't you sit down?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Actually, moving around helps." He carried the bowl of noodles over to the table. "You aren't going to hover over me, are you?"

"Depends. You aren't gonna try to give me a heart attack again, are you?"

Methos grinned. "No promises."

After a leisurely lunch, they moved into the library. Methos settled on the couch, kicking off his shoes and resting his feet on the cushions with a contented sigh.

"You okay, buddy?"

Methos sighed. "Stop hovering, Joe. If you want to be useful, you can sit down and rub my feet."

"Yeah, and why would I want to do that?"

Methos gave Joe a pitiful look. "Because they hurt?"

Joe sighed. "Make room. And don't think I won't expect compensation."

Methos pulled back his feet so Joe could settle at the end of the couch. "And what kind of compensation are we talking about, exactly?" Joe pulled Methos' feet onto his lap and began massaging the instep of the right foot. Methos groaned and let his head flop back on the couch. "Never mind. Whatever it is, I'll come up with it. Just don't stop."

Joe chuckled. "You are so easy."

"Don't let Mac know I surrendered my virtue for a foot rub."

Joe snorted but continued his massage. "These look swollen, buddy. You sure you're okay?"

Methos sighed. "Just one of the joys of pregnancy, Joe."

Joe was silent for a moment as he finished massaging the first foot and started on the other. "Those pains you got.  That mean you're gonna have labor pains and everything?"

Methos groaned. "Don't remind me."

"I'm not sure how that's gonna work and I don't wanna know," Joe said truthfully.

"Drugs, Joe. Lots and lots of drugs."

Joe chuckled. "Yeah. And that's just for Mac, right?"

"He'll probably faint dead away at the first contraction," Methos said dryly. Joe had finished with his feet, and Methos pushed himself up into a sitting position. "In my experience, it's the tough-looking ones who can't handle it."

"Nah," Joe said. "Bet he's there with you right to the finish. He's just that kinda guy."

Inexplicably, Methos found his throat tightening. "Yeah."

"Methos?"

Methos looked away. "It's the damn hormones. Just ignore me, Joe."

"The hell I will," Joe said gruffly, putting an arm around Methos. "You just go ahead and tell your bartender all about it. I won't tell anyone, not even Mac."

Methos snorted. "Isn't that carrying your Oath a bit far?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you gotta smart mouth?"

Methos couldn't help the shaky laugh. "All the time."

"So what's upsetting you?"

"I'm not upset. I'm just...overwhelmed." He sighed. "Less than a year ago, I thought I'd lost Mac completely. I mean, I never thought we'd be lovers, much as I wanted it, but we were _friends_. And then the goddamn Horsemen..." His breath caught. "I thought he'd never forgive me."

Joe remained silent, tightening his embrace.

"And _now..._ I'm married to him, and carrying his children, and he _loves_ me. I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole and through the looking glass at the same time. It's...overwhelming. And I feel like a bloody idiot, upset because I'm actually _happy_." He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I don't think you're an idiot," Joe said gruffly. "I think being this happy makes it safe for you to remember how lonely you were, and how  it hurt to think Mac would never forgive you."

Methos looked up at Joe. "Anyone ever tell you that you'd make a great dad?"

"Not recently," Joe said, dryly. "You feeling the need for one?"

"Maybe."  Methos leaned his head back against Joe's shoulder. "I don't remember having one.  Nor a mother."

Joe felt a rush of sympathy.  "Guess I could take on that job," he said gruffly, then grinned.  "It would be worth it for the right to swat your sarcastic butt on a regular basis. "

"What is this obsession everyone has with swatting me?" Methos complained. "You, Mac, Julian..."

"I expect it's a natural reaction to knowing you for any length of time."

Methos laughed and, deciding that Joe made a comfortable pillow, closed his eyes.  "So that'd make you grandfather to the twins as well. Grandpa Joe has a nice sound to it."

Joe felt his throat tighten again. "Yeah," he said gruffly, stroking Methos' hair as he watched him drift to sleep. "I think that sounds just about right."

An hour later, Duncan came into the house and glanced into the library, then paused at the sight before him. Joe was sitting on one end of the couch, glancing through a magazine. Methos was curled up against his shoulder, sound asleep.

Duncan grinned. "Hey, Joe."

Joe made a hushing movement, glancing down at the sleeping man. "Don't wake him, Mac. The kid's had a rough day."

"Oh?" Duncan sat down on the coffee table. "Something wrong?"

"Nah. He just had a ride on the hormonal roller-coaster."

One corner of Duncan's mouth quirked up. "Yeah, his emotions are pretty up-and-down right now. Is that why you're holding him?"

Joe eyed Duncan warily. "You're not getting jealous, are you, Mac?"

Duncan shook his head. "I'm glad Methos has such a good friend."

"It's more than that, Mac. Methos...well, he sorta considers me a surrogate father."

Duncan smiled. "Tell me something I didn't already know."

"And I think he needs family right about now." He glanced down at the dark head on his shoulder. "When my sister was pregnant with my niece, she and Mom were on the phone all the time. Said it made her feel better to talk about things with Mom."

An amused look appeared in Duncan's eyes. "Does this mean you're my mother-in-law, Joe?"

"Bite me." He couldn't help grinning as Duncan laughed. "Seriously, Mac, he asked me to be the kids' grandfather. That okay with you?"

Duncan nodded. "Sounds perfect. It'll be nice for them to have a living grandparent." He watched Joe try to ease himself into a more comfortable position. "You must be tired of sitting like that. Do you want me to move him?"

"Nah, let him sleep. Although I wouldn't mind something to drink."

Duncan stood up. "Tea or something stronger?"

"Tea'll be fine. Oh, and could you possibly find me something else to read," Joe asked plaintively, gesturing at the New Yorker on his lap. "I've read this damn thing so many times I've got it memorized. The only other things in reach are those baby books and I refuse to read them."

Duncan chuckled and handed Joe a stack of magazines, then headed off to the kitchen to get his semi-official in-law a drink.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, they drove Joe into Poitiers to catch the train. Duncan thought he caught a bit of wistfulness on Methos' face as they waved goodbye to Joe. Even a stop at the local bookstore didn't cheer him up. Finally, after a fine meal at the best restaurant in Poitiers - a meal Methos hardly even touched - Duncan spoke up on the drive home.

"Are you going to mope around the rest of the day? Or maybe till the next time Joe visits?"

Methos looked up, startled. "Hmm?"

Duncan gave an exasperated sigh. "You weren't even listening to me, were you?"

"Did you notice he looks tired?" Methos interrupted.

Duncan frowned. He hadn't noticed anything unusual. "You're the former doctor in the family; you tell me."

"I think they're overworking him."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Methos, his job is watching _me,_ which he certainly isn't doing from Paris! How can they be overworking him?"

"Exactly my point," Methos said with an air of triumph. "Can't be the bar; he has staff to do most of the work. So it's got to be the Watchers."

"You think they're up to something?" Duncan asked, concerned. "You think they've figured out..."

"Of course not," Methos scoffed. "Who would ever believe a pregnant male Immortal?"

"I don't know: the same people who believe Immortals exist in the first place?"

Methos was silent for a moment. "If I could just get into the system, I could figure out what's going on."

"Or you could just ask Joe. Direct, to the point, no deviousness involved."

Methos gave him a half-amused look. "Now where would be the fun in that?"

Duncan rolled his eyes. "You were caught once breaking into their Headquarters. Don't you think that's enough, even for an Immortal lifetime?"

"Who said anything about getting caught?"

"Methos..."

"Relax, Mac. I'm not going anywhere near the place. I'm just going to see if the backdoors to the computer system are still there."

"All this because Joe looks _tired_?"

Methos blinked. "Well, yeah."

"What happened to the man who only looked out for himself?"

"Ah, well, that's an interesting story," Methos said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked over at Duncan. "He met this idiot who insisted on throwing himself into danger for his friends and his principles. I expect some of it rubbed off."

Duncan's lips twitched in amusement. "Well, it'll probably wear off in time. And whatever you're planning, I don't want to know." He reached over and touched Methos' hand. "Just don't get caught."

 

* * *

 

Whatever it was Methos suspected, he either forgot or got absorbed in something else because Duncan didn't hear any more about the Watchers over the next week. They were both busy with the house, particularly the heating system, as October approached. The days were still warm and beautiful, but there was a chill in the air at night. They knew it wouldn't be long before winter was there.

Methos was also obsessed with names for their unborn babies, and Duncan began to get heartily sick of the lists of names he found scattered about the house. It wasn't that he didn't want to name the babies - he did - but he didn't feel any urgency. That puzzled him and, if it wasn't for the lack of concern in what he had come to regard as his internal "Methos-early-warning-system", Duncan would have called Julian about it.  As it was, he resigned himself: Methos was going to be highly focused until this matter was resolved.

The beginning of October found Methos consulting yet another naming book. Duncan fervently hoped it was the last one as he built up the fire in the library, wondering just how pissed Methos would get if he used the books for tinder. Methos, oblivious to Duncan's dark intentions towards his books, continued reading out names.

"What about nature names?" Methos asked, flipping through the pages. "How does Meadow sound, or Ocean?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding."

"No nature names, then. Mythology? Now there's a rich arena for names. Andromeda, Aphrodite, Diana, or we could go with Celtic mythology. Rhiannon, Gwyndydd .."

"You'd inflict a name on a child that no one will be able to spell, much less pronounce?" Duncan asked. As Methos opened his mouth, he added, "Except for you, of course."

They both looked up at the sound of the intruder alert, relaxing only when they heard the accompanying sound of a motorcycle engine. Methos grinned at Duncan.

"Well, Dad, it looks like your eldest son is home from the wars."

Duncan gave him a pointed look. "I guess that makes you Richie's mom, doesn't it?"

"Don't even go there, MacLeod. Not unless you _like_ sleeping on the couch."

"Only if you're there with me."

Duncan went to open the door, greeting Richie warmly. "Rich, you're back early."

Richie cocked his head sideways, studying his teacher. "Am I in the way? 'Cause I can get a room in town."

"Don't be silly," Duncan said, pulling him into the library. "We're glad to have you here. Aren't we, Methos?"

"Ecstatic," Methos said dryly. "I don't know how we've managed without you."

Richie grinned. "Missed you, too."

"How was Seacouver?" Duncan asked.  "Did everything go okay?"

Richie nodded.  "I looked up the building contractor you told me about, got a quote for replacing the entire plumbing system. Got a quote from a couple others, too, but you were right, their bid was the best one. I signed a contract with them before I left, if that's all right."

"I told you, Richie - it's your place now."

"Yeah, well, I'm also having them fix up the space on the third floor, turn it into a guest suite. Figured it would come in handy when you guys decide to pay me a visit."

Duncan grinned. "Thanks, Richie. We'd like that. Wouldn't we, Methos?"

"Hmm?" Methos asked, peering abstractedly from behind his book.

Richie grinned. "What's he reading now?"

"You don't want to know," Duncan said, but Richie leaned closer.

"Baby name books? Are you kidding?"

Methos didn't even look up. "Don't you have something you should be doing? Like playing with your bike or trying to clear up your acne or something?"

"Whoa," Richie said, giving Duncan an amused look. "Is he always this cheerful or do I just bring out the best in him?" Methos dropped his book and glared and Richie stood, holding his hands up defensively. "I'm going, I'm going. I think I'll catch a shower and unpack before dinner, okay?"

Duncan nodded. "Take your time. And Richie - we're really glad you're back," he said, throwing a sideways glare at Methos.

Methos seemed unfazed by Duncan's ire as he set down his book and strolled over to his desk.  "Rich - catch."

Richie automatically opened his hands to catch the thing Methos tossed at him and found he was looking at a set of keys.

"And do try to remember to disarm the security system when you come in," Methos said, returning to the couch. "We don't need Connor popping in and out like a bunny, certain we're being attacked."

Richie grinned widely. "Will do." He hurried upstairs with his travel bag, and Duncan gave his spouse a bemused look.

"When did you have those made?"

Methos shrugged. "A while back, when we had the doors rekeyed. Why?"

 _Because I never even thought about it and he's like a son to me,_ Duncan thought. _Because you let your tongue rip a strip of skin off him, and then you turn around and do something like that to make him feel at home._ But aloud he said, "No reason. How are the names coming?"

Methos sighed. "You know, maybe we're going about this the wrong way," he said, balling up the tenth list of names for that day and tossing his book onto the growing stack on the table.

Duncan leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and said wearily, "Define 'wrong'?"

"We're arbitrarily picking names out of a book and, because they don't mean anything to us, they don't feel right. What if we picked names that held special meanings for us?"

"Special meanings?"

Methos took a deep breath, not certain how this would go over, then said, "People who aren't with us any longer."

Duncan considered that for a moment. "Immortals and mortals?"

"Yes."

"Does the 'no-exes' rule still apply?"

Methos shook his head. "All names are open for suggestion. If either of us has a negative reaction to a name, it gets stricken, no questions asked. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Let's start with the Immortals." Duncan closed his eyes again, considering the friends he'd lost. Unfortunately, that list was getting longer every year. "Darius."

Methos nodded, turning to a clean page in his notebook. "Agreed. Rebecca?"

"All right. Graham Ash."

Methos added that name to the list. "Hugh Fitzcairn."

"Fitz," Duncan murmured, his throat a little tight. Even after three years, he missed his old friend deeply, but he nodded to Methos to include the name. "Mei-Ling."

"Brother Paul," Methos said, recalling the monk who'd tried to provide sanctuary for Immortals.

"Sunda Kastigir," Duncan offered, thinking of Connor's friend.

"Jacob Galati." Methos looked over at Duncan uncertainly. The incident with Galati had been a very stressful time in their friendship. He didn't know if he mentioning the name might stir up old resentments. "And his wife, Irina."

Duncan shook his head. "I don't think either of us wants that reminder." Methos nodded and Duncan took a deep breath. "Sean."

"Duncan," Methos said. "Much as we'd both like to honor Sean, I don't think it would be a good idea. In fact, naming them after anyone whose head either of us took is a bad idea."

Duncan sighed. "That lets out Brian, Ingrid, Byron, Kristen..."

Methos stared at him. "Kristen? You think I'd name any child of mine after that bitch?"

"No," Duncan said hastily. "It was just a name that leapt to mind."

" _Vacuum_ your mind, MacLeod."

"Right. Sorry."

"Right," Methos said. "On to the mortals." He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I'd rather not put Alexa on the list."

Duncan nodded. "I understand. I don't think I want Tessa on it, either. It would be too hard..."

"I know," Methos said quietly. He drew in a deep breath. "This is upsetting. Maybe it's a bad idea and we should just forget it."

"Naming the babies is a bad idea?" Duncan asked incredulously.

"No, dammit!  I meant naming them after people whose deaths still hurt is a bad idea."

"Methos," Duncan said gently, reaching out to touch him reassuringly. "You know we can't pretend they never existed. Neither Tessa nor Alexa would have wanted us to do that."

Methos nodded. "Okay, but let's stick to Immortals. It's a little less painful." Duncan nodded in agreement, and Methos picked up the list and read back, "Darius, Rebecca, Graham Ash, Fitzcairn - "

Richie entered the room and looked at them questioningly. "What're you doing? Writing Immortal obituaries?"

Duncan gave Richie an admonishing look. "We're listing Immortals who've died that we might want to name the baby after."

Richie shuddered. "Sounds creepy, if you ask me. Why don't you just name them after the guys you offed to get this way? At least that'd make a certain amount of sense."

Methos went very still, his face suddenly paling, and Duncan looked at him in alarm. "Methos?"

Methos stood up abruptly, and the books and tablet in his lap went crashing to the floor. He gave Richie an icy glare and Richie's jaw dropped as he watched Methos leave the room.  He looked at Duncan. "What did I _say_?"

Duncan sighed. He wanted to go after Methos but felt he owed Richie at least a little explanation so he wouldn't make the same mistake again. "The guys we 'offed' were old friends of Methos. More than friends, they were sword brothers. They...well, they were together for a long time, a couple thousand years ago."

"You had to kill his _friends_?" Richie asked, appalled. He knew Duncan had had to kill old friends of his a couple times and how painful it had been for him. For Methos, they were probably some of the oldest friends he had left. "What, they went bad?"

"They always _were_ bad," Duncan said, rubbing his neck as he tried to figure the best way to explain this to Richie without making him too wary of Methos. "They had a pretty bad reputation back in the day, and so did Methos."

"You mean, they were like a gang?" Richie asked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of Methos with a _rep_.

"Yes...no, not like a gang," Duncan said, mentally groaning. "They...well, to be honest, they rode around killing people and taking pretty much anything they wanted. They were called the, uh, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse."

"Oh," Richie said, his expression clearing. "Sorta like Hell's Angels, only on horseback."

Duncan looked at him in exasperation. "Not even close. I doubt that the Hell's Angels raped and looted and pillaged."

"You haven't heard the stories _I've_ heard," Richie said, then paused. "What exactly _is_ pillaging?"

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Richie!" He stopped and took a deep breath. "First, if you don't what pillaging means, look it up. We have about fifty dictionaries around here. Second, did you understand what I just said? Methos was part of a band of cut-throat raiders who terrorized the population of entire continents!"

"Yeah," Richie said. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Duncan blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I thought he just sat around libraries and stuff, and now you're telling me he was like an Immortal Attila the Hun. I gotta tell you, it knocks Methos up a notch or two in _my_ book. He was a kick-ass kinda guy, wasn't he?"

"Doesn't it...bother you that Methos was a rapist and a murderer?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Mac! I'm not _that_ stupid. You can't tell me what Methos did a couple thousand years ago is a big deal now. If he'd been doing it a year or two ago," Richie looked pointedly at Duncan and he shifted uncomfortably, "yeah, _that_ would freak me out. But  a couple thousand years ago? Get real."

Duncan stared at Richie, speechless, and Richie stared back. "C'mon, Mac, how many occupational niches were there back then? I mean, wasn't it like you were rich or you were poor, and being poor really, really sucked. Being a raider has got to beat the hell out of being a slave." He gave Duncan another pointed look. "I never had any problems with your friend, Robert, being a pirate. Never thought he was going to, you know,  loot my bike and stuff."

Duncan couldn't help grinning. "Rich, I can't imagine why anyone would _want_ your bike, let alone anything else you own."

"Hey!" Rich said indignantly. "It's a damn good bike. And furthermore," he said with a grin, "I own the best Levis and Nikes money can buy."

"Well, as Methos would say, 'whatever'," Duncan said. "And wouldn't you know the two of you would have the same bad taste in clothes."

"We both like being comfortable. At least I don't look like some pouf from GQ."

"Nor do I," Duncan said acerbically.

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep telling yourself that, Mac." Richie settled back in an armchair and picked up one of the baby name books. "Cool! This one has name meanings. I always wondered what Richard meant."

"It means 'jackass'," Duncan informed him succinctly. "I'm going to go make sure he's okay."

"It means 'strong ruler,' " Richie called after him, "and tell him I didn't mean to upset him or anything, okay?"

Duncan nodded as he began the search for his husband. He found Methos in the storage room, making an inventory of the items stacked there. Moving up behind his husband, he slid his arms around his waist and said softly, "You know Richie didn't mean anything by it. He only opens his mouth to change feet."

Methos shrugged. "I wasn't thinking about it, actually. Too busy with other things. And I've come up with the perfect names for the babies. At least, _I_ think they're perfect."

Duncan smiled, perfectly willing to let Methos drop the subject since he so obviously wanted to. "Yeah?"

"Daria Juliana for the girl, and Joseph Fitzcairn for the boy. Julie and Joseph for short. What do you think?"

Duncan said, softly, "I think that Darius and Fitz would be honored. And I like them, too." He leaned forward to kiss Methos. He thought about letting him know that he'd told Richie about the horsemen, but as Methos kissed him again, decided that could wait. Kissing Methos was definitely a higher priority.


	51. Chapter 51

"So, Methos," Richie said as they sat down for dinner. "Mac tells me you had quite an interesting past."

Methos looked at Duncan aghast, unable to believe he had told Richie about the Horsemen. "You could say that."

"That is way cool," Richie enthused. "You, kicking butt and taking names."

"It was a little more complicated, Richie," Duncan said, not looking up from his plate.

Richie didn't seem to hear him. "Fighting on horseback against your enemies, then snatching up the prettiest girls and riding off with them. Bet you were quite the party animal."

Methos sighed. "Rich, it wasn't like fraternity rush. People _died_. _Lots_ of people."

Richie didn't look fazed and Methos reflected that he was too young to have real comprehension of death on such scale. His words rang with innocent insensitivity. "They'd be dead now anyway so what's it matter?"

"I imagine it mattered quite a lot to the people who died," Duncan said quietly.

Methos tried to keep breathing normally. He'd hoped that Duncan had gotten past Methos' involvement with the Horsemen, but it was obvious from his tone of voice that he hadn't. And Richie's foolish questioning was threatening their unspoken agreement to leave the subject alone.

His dark past hadn't come between him and Duncan yet but then, they hadn't talked about it since Bordeaux. Methos had told Duncan briefly how Kronos had found him so many centuries ago but how could he tell Duncan about his memories of life with the Horsemen, both the good and the bad?

He closed his eyes, remembering the pettiness of their arguments, the squalor of their camp, the rich smell of horse sweat after an all-night ride. He remembered the changing landscape and his brothers' unchanging company, how decades turned into centuries before he could notice or care. He remembered Silas' huge laugh, his gentle hands with the horses, his careless cruelty with people. He remembered Caspian's maddened glare when he felt he'd been slighted and his petty revenges. He remembered the gleam in Kronos' eye when Methos came up with a particularly audacious plan, and the fury in those same eyes whenever Methos crossed him. For centuries, the other three Horsemen had been the compass points of his world. Even when they were scattered over the globe and Methos had fervently hoped never to see them again, even then there had been a cold comfort in knowing that his brothers lived.

But he could share none of this with Duncan, especially not his feelings about betraying his brothers.  It had been unavoidable, and yes, if he had to chose again there would be no question that he would side with Duncan. Caspian was no loss to anyone. Methos had been genuinely fond of Silas and regretted the giant's death at his own hands, but it had been necessary. And as for Kronos...well, Methos' relationship with Kronos had always been a complicated one. Even during their best years, it had been fueled by obsession on one side and sheer self-preservation on the other.

Their final days together had been a nightmare. Methos had reeled from one crisis to the next without a plan, barely holding onto his sanity, while Kronos reminisced about the 'Good Old Days'.  Still, his feelings about Kronos' death were horribly tangled. Kronos had been his brother for centuries and now he was gone.

Or was he? Richie's unthinking words had opened up a horrendous possibility that hadn't occurred to him.  He had held both Silas' and Kronos' Quickenings inside him when he became pregnant. What if, somehow, Kronos had found a way to cross over, to have his and Silas' spirits reborn in Methos' children? What if he gave birth to monsters, set the Horsemen free again? What if one day he had to see his children and Duncan opposing each other at sword point?

The bone chilling thought once brought to mind refused to be dismissed. He didn't think he could even talk about it with anyone. Joe wouldn't understand. Julian would chalk it up to hormonal fluctuations.  Duncan...how could he possibly tell him about his grief over the deaths of his brothers and his new fears for the babies?  Just the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Methos stood up. "I'm going for a walk."

"I'll come with you," Duncan began, but Methos shook his head.

"Alone. I'll be perfectly safe. I won't set a foot off the property."

He didn't wait for Duncan's reply, just hurried out the door and around the side of the house to a patch of grass where he fell to his knees and retched until his whole body ached.

 

* * *

 

Duncan turned and glowered at Richie whose eyes widened. "What?" he asked, bewildered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You know very well why. That was a grossly insensitive thing to say. If Methos wants to talk about his past, he will. In the meantime, you should just let him alone. Okay?"

"I was just curious," Richie grumbled. "And I still want to know what pillaging is."

"Richie..." Duncan said reprovingly.

"Okay, okay! I'll back off!" Richie scowled at his former teacher. "You know, Seacouver was a lot more fun. At least I didn't have people breathing down my neck and glaring at me."

Duncan sighed. "Sorry, Richie. It's just...this is a sensitive subject for Methos. It involves painful memories he doesn't want to bring up. And I don't want to talk about it, either. So I'd appreciate it if you'd just lay off. All right?"

Reluctantly, Richie nodded. He'd find some other way to ask Methos about his past.

 

* * *

 

Duncan looked up from the clothes he was sorting as Methos came into the bedroom, and studied his spouse. He looked pale and shaken, and Duncan's lips compressed. Just like the stubborn idiot to push himself, overestimating how much exercise he could do. Julian had warned them that, now that Methos was entering the third trimester, he would tire easily again, but Methos hadn't paid any attention, as usual.

With an exasperated sigh, Duncan went to start the bath water. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Methos sitting on the end of the bed, trying to unbutton his shirt with shaking hands. Gently pushing Methos' hands out of the way, he unfastened the buttons himself.

"I knew you'd overdo it if I let you go alone," he scolded gently. "Do you _want_ to end up on complete bed rest, you idiot?" He eased the shirt off Methos' shoulders and tossed it in the laundry hamper.

Duncan saw Methos' head jerk up, his eyes widening in surprise. "What? You didn't think Julian would talk to me about that? He's serious, and unless you've got a kink for five-point restraints that I don't know about, you'd better behave. Just how far did you walk tonight, anyway? Five miles?"

He saw the wary look in Methos' eyes. "Not quite," he said.

Duncan sighed and lightly whapped Methos' head. "Idiot," he repeated, affectionately. He pushed Methos back on the bed so he could untie the drawstring pants and slide them off. "You don't have to prove anything, you know?"

"I don't?"

There was a note of surprise and uncertainty in Methos' voice, and Duncan resisted the urge to whap him again. "Of course not. I know you're tough as nails. But remember, you don't bounce back like you used to."

Methos suddenly relaxed and the look he gave Duncan was almost normal. "Oh, I don't know. Some parts of me seem pretty bouncy these days."

Duncan laughed and pressed a kiss against his rounded belly. "They certainly do."

He pulled off Methos' shoes and carried them over to the wardrobe, setting them inside. Glancing at the trousers, he noted that the knees were grass-stained and sighed again. So that was part of the problem. Methos had evidently had a fall during his walk and it had shaken him. He bit his tongue to keep from scolding his spouse again, and resolved to keep a closer eye on him. These dizzy spells worried him, no matter how "normal" the books said they were. They'd also predicted dire consequences if Methos' blood pressure got too high. Duncan wasn't about to take any chances with the three most important people in his family.

He put the trousers aside, reminding himself to treat the knees before washing them, and turned back to Methos. The older Immortal still lay across the end of the bed, dressed in just boxers and socks, and the sight aroused both Duncan's libido and his protective instincts.

"Into the tub with you," he said. "If you'd like, I'll join you and rub your feet."

Methos grinned. "I never refuse a foot massage." He groaned as he tried to sit up and gave it up, rolling onto his side, then off the bed onto his knees instead. As he did, he knocked over the large stuffed rabbit reclining on the bed. Methos pushed himself up off the floor and glared at Duncan.

"Harvey does _not_ belong on the bed, MacLeod. It's bad enough having him sitting across the room, watching us, but we are _not_ starting a threesome."

Duncan grinned and picked up the bunny. With exaggerated care, he dusted it off and settled it in one of the chairs by the French doors then, after a moment's thought, tossed his robe over the rabbit's head.

Methos rolled his eyes and headed towards the bath, shedding his boxers on the way. Duncan sighed as he picked up the discarded underwear and tossed them in the laundry, but he smiled as well. It seemed Methos was back to normal.

Methos climbed into the tub and slid down into the hot water until his head was resting on the rim of the tub. He sighed blissfully, let his eyes slide shut, and thanked whatever gods happened to be listening. The conversation with Duncan had gone remarkably well. He'd  expected a scene on his return to the house and had climbed the stairs to their bedroom reluctantly. But, incredibly enough, Duncan hadn't said one word about the Horsemen. Instead of being cold and distant or angry and rejecting, Duncan had fussed over him as usual.

So why did he have this cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop? He wanted to talk about the Horsemen, to get the issue out in the open, but just couldn't bring it up himself.

He opened one eye as Duncan entered the bathroom and joined him in the tub. Duncan settled at the other end and lifted one of Methos' feet onto his lap. Methos sighed with pleasure as Duncan's hands worked over the instep.

"God, that's good," Methos groaned, sinking down in the water. "Better than sex."

Duncan grinned. "Should I be insulted?"

"Hell, no. A man who can rub feet like that is prized above rubies."

Duncan laughed softly. "The truth comes out: you only love me for what I can do with my hands."

"And what's wrong with that?" Methos asked, melting even more as Duncan began working his magic on the other foot. Duncan laughed again but said nothing more.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Gionetti, Assistant Director of the Mediatheque François Mitterrand, smiled at the researchers and other staff members gathered around the table. "Well, I believe that will be all for this month's meeting. See you next month."

As the rest of the staff gathered their materials and milled about in front of the door, Methos shuffled his papers together as cover for his inaction while waiting for everyone else to leave before he got up. The large sweater he was wearing and the coat he carried hid a multitude of sins but he didn't want to risk anyone getting a good look at his belly.

"Monsieur Pierson? A moment of your time, s'il vous plait."

"Of course, Dr. Bruecher," Methos said, trying not to grind his teeth together. Dr. Bruecher was his immediate supervisor, and if he had been required to work at the mediatheque under her daily scrutiny, he would have quit within a week. He had met quite a lot of unpleasant people over his long lifetime, had spent a thousand years in the close company of two psychopaths, but Dr. Bruecher was fast becoming his Least Favorite Living Person. She continually "forgot" to address him by his proper title. She had begun their professional relationship by insinuating that he had slept with Dr. Gionetti to get his position. Upon finding out he was in a committed relationship with a man, her attitude had switched from distrust to hostility.

Methos sighed and sat back, waiting for her to aim whatever salvo she had prepared this time. Once the room was empty except for them, she settled into the Director's vacant chair and stared at him. Methos put on his most harmless "Adam Pierson" look and waited.

"Well, Monsieur Pierson. Quite an impressive bit of translation for your first effort."

"You are too kind," he murmured, giving her the shy smile that had made the toughest professors at University want to adopt him and take him home. Dr. Bruecher, it seemed, was of sterner stuff.

"Of course, the translation of the second quarto is hardly the usual one." Her tone of voice implied that he had committed a grave sacrilege against all linguists.

He countered with his blandest look. "Surely, Dr. Bruecher, that is what the client _wished_ us to do? I was under the impression that they wished to scrape away the commonplace translations. To go back to the original manuscript and see what the author  _intended_ to say, not what centuries of misinterpretations filtered through the mores of the times _inferred_ as the meaning. Or perhaps I was mistaken?"

Dr. Bruecher didn't seem to be swayed by his innocent appeal, either. "The Director appears to support your view, so who am I to say otherwise?" she said sardonically.

Methos looked down at his lap, as if overwhelmed by modest pleasure.

"In fact, because of his...approval, I have decided to appoint you to the team working with the University of Poitiers' Department of Medieval Studies at the start of next term. I, of course, will be lead researcher for the team, and you shall be my assistant."

Methos looked up, dismayed. The start of the term? That would be the beginning of January. By that time, he would be _enormous_ , and Julian would be scheduling the delivery.

"Dr. Bruecher, this is a great honor..."

"It _is_ an honor to be chosen for this team, Pierson. You will, of course, be required to come into the office every day for the first year."

"...but I must decline. Regretfully."

Dr. Bruecher stopped talking and stared at Methos as if he'd lost his mind. "You _what_?"

"I must decline."

"Do you know what you're _saying_ , Pierson? This is an opportunity to work with the foremost department of medieval literature in Europe! The chance to bring your name to the attention of the leading researchers in the field!"

 _You mean your name,_ Methos thought sourly, _while I do the scut work_.

He managed a helpless shrug, trying the look on her again. "I know but, as the Assistant Director is aware, my spouse and I are adopting a child at the beginning of January. It will be quite impossible for me to be away from home so much at that time."

"A _child_?" she asked, incredulously.

"Twins, actually."

She gave him a look that left him in absolutely no doubt of her feelings on the subject of gays adopting children. "Monsieur Pierson, one of the reasons you were accepted for this position was that you were unencumbered by familial responsibilities. It was understood that you would be able to devote more time to research than your colleagues in more...usual relationships."

Methos' eyes narrowed and he stood up, leaning forward to bring his face closer to hers. "It is _Doctor_ Pierson. And the _reason_ I was hired is that my credentials are bloody impeccable. Who or even _what_ I sleep with is irrelevant to the work I do here. And you can take that bloody project of yours and shove it up your arse!"

He grabbed his coat and briefcase, heading towards the door. As he reached for the handle, he heard Dr. Bruecher fire her final shot.

"Pity, because I had intended to give the 'Lancelot-Graal Project' to my assistant at the end of this assignment."

Methos stiffened. The 'Lancelot-Graal Project' was the most important research project the mediatheque had landed to date, a plan to catalog all writings about the Grail and create a database available to scholars throughout the world. The research team would have unlimited access to some of the rarest medieval documents and artifacts in the most important collections in Europe and America. Documents even Methos had never seen over his long, long life. Even better, the project wasn't scheduled to start till the following summer, when the twins would be about six months old. Ever since he'd heard about the Project, Methos had wanted it, and he'd known he was the odds-on favorite to head the team. Until now.

Without another word, he opened the door and left, slamming the door behind him.

As he stalked down the hallway toward the elevator, he heard his name called. Taking a deep breath, he put on his blandest mask and turned, politely waiting for the Assistant Director to catch up to him.

Dr. Gionetti gave him an amused look. "Ah, I see that Dr. Bruecher is up to her usual tricks. Pay no mind to her. She snubbed me for an entire year because I dared to impugn one of her favorite writers.

Methos hesitated, then said, "She wanted me to be on the liaison team in January, but my family situation..."

Sonia Gionetti nodded knowledgeably. "But of course! The little ones will be coming home just then, will they not?" Methos nodded, managing to look a little anxious, like a first-time father would. "You are not to concern yourself with his matter. Settle your family first. You have plenty of projects to keep you busy _and_ working from home, yes?"

Methos nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Gionetti." He turned to walk away.

"Oh, and Adam!" He turned back inquiringly. "When you are settled with _les petites_ , I shall expect you and Monsieur MacLeod to have me over for dinner one night. He must be an excellent cook."

"He is, but how did you know?"

She laughed. "Adam, it is quite obvious. You have put on quite a bit of weight lately."

It was fortunate for his job and the library that the elevator arrived at that moment. It was less fortunate that Richie, waiting outside with the car, didn't know how to interpret the look on his face. Duncan would have known to duck and cover. He certainly wouldn't have asked Methos to tell him all about a typical Horseman raid...

 

* * *

 

Methos got out of the car without a backward look at his queasy-looking driver and stomped into the house. In the library, he set his briefcase on the desk and, ignoring the stack of mail, went over to the couch. He settled on it with a groan, kicked off his shoes, and debated remaining right there for the next three months. An urgent notice from his bladder reminded him that there was a good reason why he couldn't.

With another groan, he pushed himself up and shuffled up the stairs to the bedroom. As he made his way towards the bathroom, he shed layers of clothing so that by the time he reached the toilet, he was wearing only boxers and socks.

He relieved himself, sighing with pleasure as the pressure on his bladder eased a little, then tucked himself back in his boxers. At least, he hoped he had. These days, he had to take things like that on faith since he could no longer see past his rounding belly to his genitals.

Small fists or feet beat a tattoo along his back, and he glanced at the tub wistfully. He would love to take a long, hot bath, but had no desire to be trapped in the tub again. The previous week, he had found that, much to his chagrin, his weight distribution had shifted so that he couldn't get out of the slick tub without help. The amusement on Duncan's face when he'd found Methos trapped in the tub had been entertaining at the time, but he wasn't in the mood to be laughed at right now.

He sighed and shuffled back into the bedroom, planning to borrow Duncan's robe which was currently wrapped around Harvey and head down to the spring. The ringing of the phone made him detour over to the nightstand.

"Hello?"

"Methos?"

A smile of pure pleasure lit up Methos' face, and he sat down on the bed. "Joe! I was hoping you'd call. Are you coming down with Julian this weekend?"

"No, I'm not." Joe's voice sounded grim. "And you're in a lot of trouble with me, kiddo."

Methos blinked. "Me? What did _I_ do?"

"You know perfectly well what you did. Thanks to you, I'm gonna be spending the weekend explaining why someone who got into the system through an unknown backdoor, using an ID no one seems to recognize, would be interested in _my_ personnel records!"

Methos closed his eyes and flopped back on the bed. "Oh, hell."

"What were you thinking? Never mind; it's obvious you _weren't_. If you _had_ been, you would have known this was an extremely bad idea!"

"Come on, Joe! It's not like I was trying to find out something about a possible opponent!"

"No, you were trying to find out something about _me_."  The hurt in Joe's voice was audible, even across the phone lines.

Methos felt his throat tighten. "Joe..."

"How _could_ you?" Joe said angrily. "What _possible_ excuse could you have for hacking into my personnel files? Or was this just another example of your goddamn nosiness getting the best of you? Come on, tell me just what was going on in those twisted thought processes of yours. I really want to know."

"I was worried about you."

"You were _worried_? About what?"

"You...when you were down here, you looked...tired. Stressed."

"And you couldn't just _ask_ me if something was the matter?"

Remembering what he had found, Methos said, "Would you have told me the truth if I had?"

"Dammit, of _course_ I would have! I didn't want to worry you or Mac, not when everything is still up in the air. But if you'd really wanted to know, I would have told you. And that doesn't justify you poking your nose into my business."

"It's more than just _your_ business, Joe! This affects Duncan and me as well! What if they actually manage to get someone else assigned as our Watcher?  I think even the greenest rookie would notice I'm sporting a spare tyre up front! And once the Watchers found out it was possible for Immortals to have children... You know what would happen, Joe!"

Joe snapped, "Of course! I'm not an idiot! Why else do you think I'm fighting this so hard?"

"I really don't want to choose between an Immortal hunt that would make Horton's look like a Sunday-school picnic, and being hauled off to a secret laboratory."

"That's not going to happen, Methos. Could you just try trusting me for once, okay?"

Methos said quietly, "You know I trust you as much as I trust Duncan."

"Sure you do," Joe said, the irony heavy in his voice. "That's why you're hacking into computers instead of _asking_ me."

Methos rubbed his aching temples with his free hand, silently swearing that he would never take Immortal healing for granted again. "I'm _sorry_ , Joe. I was just worried about you, but I'll keep out of your business. In fact, I promise I won't hack into the system ever again."

"You expect me to believe that? Just how big is your nose getting, Pinocchio?"

"Joe..."

"Just keep outta my records. Have we got that clear? And if you _ever_ pull a stupid stunt like that again..."

Methos' stomach lurched painfully. "Heard and understood, Joe," he said quietly, then disconnected before he did something completely idiotic, like apologizing again.

He tossed the phone onto the bed and covered his face with his arm, forcing himself to breathe slowly in and out. It was just hormones. It had nothing to do with the anger and disappointment in Joe's voice. It had just been a hell of a day.

The bedroom door opened but Methos ignored it, knowing who it was from the feel of Presence. Maybe if he looked pitiful enough, Duncan would give him a back rub or, even better, join him in the warm spring.

"Jesus, Methos! Do you think you could have made a bigger mess if you tried?"

 _Well, scratch that idea_ , he thought sourly. _Duncan MacLeod, this year's candidate for the Homemaker of the Year award, has arrived on the scene._

"You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to toss your clothes in the general direction of a chair every once in a while. Just for the novelty of it."

"Bite me," he muttered under his breath.

"And what did you say to Richie on the way home? He looked positively green."

 _That'll teach him to ask what one of our typical raids was like_ , Methos thought with satisfaction. _Richie turned an interestingly shade when I told him about Caspian's eating habits. Now if I could only figure out how to get MacLeod to shut up_.

"Are you not talking to me for some reason, or are you just in a bad mood? And was that the phone I heard a few minutes ago? I assume you answered it since the headset is next to you."

"Your powers of deduction are truly incredible, Holmes."

Duncan sighed.  "Would it be too much trouble to ask who it was?"

Methos sighed. "Joe. He's not going to be able to make it this weekend."

He could feel Duncan's eyes on his face. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how much you look forward to his visits."

"Yeah, well, they might be less frequent in the future," Methos said, staring up at the ceiling so he wouldn't blink. Because if he blinked, then the moisture in his eyes was going to run down his face and then Duncan would think he was crying.  Which, of course, he wasn't. "Joe's just a little pissed at me."

He heard Duncan sigh. "You got caught, didn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, Duncan said, "Didn't I tell you not to try sneaking around? Didn't I say just ask Joe?"

Methos ground his teeth together and sat upright on the bed. He turned his head to glare at Duncan. "How does it feel to be absolutely right about everything all the time? To never make a single bad decision? To be absolutely perfect!"

"I'm not - "

Methos didn't hear the rest of the sentence because he was storming out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

By the time Julian arrived for his biweekly visit, Duncan was so relieved that he could have kissed him. For the past few days, Methos had been so moody there was almost no living with him. His tongue flayed anyone who came close to him, and Richie gave him a wide berth whenever possible.  His continuous barbed comments to Duncan made him want to shake his infuriating spouse. But just when Duncan felt he was about to snap, Methos would suddenly latch onto him as if he never wanted to let go. There was nothing sexual in the embrace, only desperation.

In fact, there was nothing sexual at all between them lately. Methos had taken to sleeping clothed in boxers and T-shirt, his back turned to Duncan. After the first night when Methos had nearly taken his head off for just touching him, Duncan hadn't tried to breech the barriers Methos set up. And more than once he'd mentally cursed Richie for starting this mess with his thoughtless words.

"Julian!" Duncan called out, then smiled widely as he recognized the passenger in the car. He went around the car to open the door, pulling Grace Chandel into a hug. "Grace! It's good to see you again."

Grace kissed his cheek and smiled. "It's good to see you, too, Duncan. I can't tell you how pleased I was to hear about this from Julian. You must be very happy."

Duncan smiled wryly. "Well, most days."

Julian gave him an amused look. "Ah, I take it that Someone is being difficult?"

"Someone is being a pain in the ass," Duncan said. "When you told me about mood swings, you didn't tell me I'd be living with Dr. Pierson and Mr. Hyde."

"Surely it's not that bad?" Julian said.

"Oh, no?"

Duncan sensed Methos approaching and turned to get the luggage out of the trunk.

"Hello, Julian," Methos said, and Duncan gritted his teeth as he recognized it was his most obnoxious tone. "I see you've brought someone else along to gawk at the freak. Why don't you sell tickets?"

Duncan nearly dropped the suitcases. "Adam! Behave yourself! You'll scare off Grace."

Grace laughed and shook her head. "I'm not that easily intimidated. And Dr. Patterson's irascible sense of humor is one of his greatest charms." She held out her hand. "Charles, it's good to see you again."

A rueful smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Grace," he said, taking her hand. "And it's 'Adam' now."

"Of course." She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, then looked down his body. Her hand automatically reached out to touch his distended abdomen. "It's true," she said, awe in her voice. "I could hardly believe it when Julian told me."

Methos chuckled and covered her hand with his as he looked at her affectionately. Duncan's mouth almost dropped open and then his eyes narrowed. The way Methos and Grace were looking at each other made him wonder if they'd been _more_ than just colleagues fighting against a worldwide epidemic. His jealous instincts leapt to the forefront, but neither noticed.

"You're looking very well," Grace said.

Methos snorted. "I look like Moby Dick: large, white, and deformed, and with the temperament to match.  Just ask Mac." He let go of her hand and looked at Duncan. "Are you going to let them stand in the parking area all day, or are you going to show them their rooms?" Methos disappeared back into the house.

"See what I mean?" Duncan sighed, then gestured towards the house. "This way. I've put you both in the new guest wing; we just finished renovating and decorating it." Too bad they hadn't redone the barn and put guest rooms in there. The side wing suddenly seemed too short a distance between Methos and Grace.

"That sounds lovely," Grace said, following him into the house. "This is a beautiful old place and on holy ground as well. How ever did you find it?"

"It was a fluke, actually." Duncan led the way up the spiral staircase to the second floor. "We were exploring the countryside while on our honeymoon and came across it." He placed a subtle emphasis on the word 'honeymoon', just in case Grace forgot that Methos was now married.

On the upstairs landing, Duncan gestured towards the three doors. "We've put you in here, Grace, and Julian your room is across here. The bathroom is here in the middle."

"Actually, we only need one bedroom," Julian said, and the amused look on his face let Duncan know that the doctor had seen his jealous reaction to Methos and Grace's meeting.

"Really?" he asked, not even minding when they both laughed at the delighted relief on his face and in his voice. "This is new."

Grace smiled and nodded. "We got to talking at the reception and, well, one thing led to another, as they say." She turned her head and smiled at Julian, and Duncan saw the answering smile in Julian's eyes, easing the deep sorrow Duncan had grown accustomed to seeing there.

"I'm happy for you," he said sincerely. "Choose whichever room you like. I'm going to start lunch, so just come down to the kitchen when you're ready. Julian knows the way."

Humming to himself, Duncan went back down the stairs and through the house toward the kitchen wing. He paused in the library, hoping to find Methos there, but the room was empty. With a sigh, he continued on to the kitchen, then smiled as he found his spouse there, washing vegetables. Duncan walked up behind Methos and slid his arms around him.

"Watch it, MacLeod. I'm armed and hormonal."

Methos flourished the knife in his hand but his voice was amused rather than irritated, and Duncan could feel his whole body relax. He pressed a kiss at the precise place where Methos' neck joined his shoulder and left his head there, enjoying the warm scent of his lover.

"I consider myself warned," he murmured, nuzzling the warm skin. It felt like it had been forever since they'd been close like this and he had desperately missed it. His hands slid down to rest over Methos' abdomen, and he felt Methos lean back into his embrace. Maybe he'd been making too big a deal over the situation, he thought. Maybe his own insecurities had been feeding Methos', and they just needed to talk about it. Get everything out in the open.

"Methos," he said softly, kissing his neck again. "I love you so much. Can we...can we talk about what's wrong?"

Methos stiffened in his arms and Duncan swore under his breath. That was obviously a mistake. He should have left things alone, not tried to push it, but he was just so frustrated with the situation.

Duncan let out an exasperated breath. "I guess not. Methos..."

"I've got lunch to prepare, Mac," Methos said, a warning tone in his voice.

Duncan growled with frustration. "Fine.  I'm going for a walk," he said shortly, turned on his heel and left the room.

 

* * *

 

Methos was setting the table when Julian and Grace entered the kitchen. "Perfect timing," he said, putting down the large salad bowl. "Grace, would you help with the soup bowls? I'm assuming we would actually like to _eat_ our soup instead of wearing it."

Julian chuckled as he settled at the table. "Kicking, are they?"

"Like bloody football players."

"Well, there's a possible future for them. The Welsh National team could use someone who can actually _score_ a goal."

Methos gave him a mock-glare. "That's low, trashing a man's team. Draw your sword."

Julian chuckled. Grace said, curiously, "So you can feel them kicking? What's it like?"

Methos sat and stared into his soup bowl for a long moment, then said, slowly, "It's hard to describe. At first, it felt like butterflies. Or like when you're healing, and you can feel the muscles and ligaments settling back into place, rippling under the skin." He glanced up at Grace and she nodded. "But now it feels like definite kicks. Mac said last week that they were trying to kick him out of bed." The smile on his face faded, and he went back to studying his soup.

"I see there are only three places set for lunch." Julian's voice was casual, but he watched Methos out of the corner of his eye.

Methos' face shuttered. "Mac went for a walk, and Richie's been spending a lot of time in town. I think he's got a girl there."

"Does Duncan always get so jealous around your old lovers?" Grace asked, recalling the scene in the yard.

Methos shrugged. "If he thinks they're a threat of some kind. It's part of the bond, not personal."

"And here I was thinking he was worried about my irresistible charm," Grace said lightly, then reached out to cover Methos' hand. "You two didn't fight about it, did you? Because there's no reason for Duncan to be worried."

Methos glanced up, looking between the two of them, and then he grinned. "Well. This is a bit of a surprise. Are congratulations in order?"

"Don't push it, old man," Julian said dryly.

"Just like old married people," Grace teased. "Trying to match up their single friends, make everyone as miserable as they are." As Methos' gaze dropped, her eyes widened and she glanced quickly at Julian before saying, "Charles...Adam. I didn't mean it that way..."

Julian reached out to touch Methos' arm. "Trouble in paradise?"

Methos dragged up a smile. "Just a spat, nothing serious. Look, I'm not really hungry so I'll just be in the library when you're done. Don't rush." Methos pushed back his chair and was out the door before they could say a word.

Grace looked over at Julian, a question in her eyes, and he shook his head. "I have no idea. When I was down here two weeks ago, they were living in each other's pockets, and their biggest squabbles were over baby names. It's probably just a little blow-up but..."

Grace reached across the table and patted Julian's hand. "Don't worry, love. I'll start Adam's exam, do a bit of prying, and you see if you can run Duncan to ground."

Julian picked up Grace's hand. "Have I told you recently how glad I am we met?"

A hint of a smile touched her lips. "Not in the last half-hour or so."

"How remiss of me." He turned her hand over and kissed the palm. "Grace..."

"I know," she said softly. "Me, too."

 

* * *

 

Methos was stretched out on the couch idly flicking through a book when Grace came into the room.  "Well, Adam, I drew the short straw so I get to do your exam today," she said, smiling. "Do you have a place where I can get you naked and look you over?"

"Why, Dr. Chandel! I'm shocked! No wonder Mac was worried about you."

Grace laughed and helped Methos up from the couch. "Your virtue is safe with me."

"I'm glad to hear that." Methos led the way to delivery room/nursery, giving Grace a sideways glance. "I'm really happy for you two. Julian's been too alone lately."

"We both have," Grace said quietly.

Methos took her hand. Their affair hadn't been a grand passion, just two doctors, trying to stem the tide of death during the deadly Spanish influenza epidemic, reaching out towards life during that brief time. It wouldn't have lasted, and not just because of their own feelings. Grace had been running from an old lover, obsessed with possessing her.  Methos had just been running. "I know. I'm glad you have each other now."

Abruptly changing the subject, he said, "How naked do you want me?"

"Now _that's_ a leading question, isn't it? Take off your sweater for now."

Methos nodded and sat on the bed, pulling his sweater over his head. Grace opened the small cabinet beside the bed and saw that it was well stocked, although she'd bring her own medical bag with her when she moved in. She extracted a stethoscope and began recording Methos' vital signs.

"Everything looks good," she said, tapping his shoulder. "Lie down and let me check out your passengers."

Methos stretched out, staring at the ceiling and wishing Duncan was there. He always felt a little panicked, lying on a medical bed like this, in a little room with only one avenue of escape. Even if he knew the person poking at him, he couldn't relax because he didn't trust anyone that much. Except Duncan.

"According to Julian's notes, you're at 25 fetal weeks." Grace pulled out a tape measure and took a measurement from his hip to his belly button. "Thirty-one centimeters, slightly larger than usual, but then again, you're carrying twins." She gently poked and prodded at his belly for several minutes. "Placement seems good, plenty of room for movement. I'd say about 1 kilo each. Any problems so far?"

"Other than my feet swelling, my skin itching, my back aching, having to piss all the time _,_ and feeling like they're swinging off my ribs, why, no, none to speak of." He carefully kept to himself that he'd been feeling faint a lot lately, not wanting anyone to make a big deal about it - or put him on bed rest.

Grace grinned. "Well, that's a relief." She pulled out a tray of syringes and tubes. "I'm going to take blood samples back to the lab with us, just to make sure everything is going well."

Methos made a face but held out his arm. A few minutes later, she let him sit up while she capped and labeled the samples. Carefully not looking at him, she said, "You know, many couples run into some...rough patches during pregnancy. Differences in libido, anxiety about the changes coming, fears about childbirth..."

Methos sighed. "Grace, thanks, but the problems we're having are... complicated."

She sat down on the bed next to him. "I've been told I'm a good listener."

"You're a good person, Grace. So is Mac. But I...haven't always been." He gave her a slightly twisted smile.

"Adam..."

"No!" he said sharply. "I _don't_ want to talk about it.  Are we done?"

Grace got up from the bed, nodding. "For now. All right if I store these in the refrigerator?"

"Fine," Methos snapped, pulling the sweater back over his head. He headed towards the door, then stopped and sighed. "Grace..."

"It's all right," she said. "You're hardly the first temperamental 'mother' I've dealt with."

Methos gave her a scathing look but his lips twitched. "Oh, thanks a lot!"

"You're welcome."

"There's a small refrigerator out here, next to the laundry center," he said, jerking his head towards the outer room. "You're welcome to store anything you need there. It won't be used till after the babies arrive."

"Thanks." She noticed he looked tired and said, gently, "Why don't you go get a nap? I'll let Duncan and Julian know."

Methos nodded. "I think I will." Slowly, he climbed the stairs, leaving Grace to sit and mull over what he'd said...and what he hadn't.

 

* * *

 

Julian found Duncan in the workshop, his attention focused on a small piece of furniture that he was stripping of its garish white paint.

"Nice bit of wood you have there," he said, watching the fine grain appear under Duncan's patient handling.

Duncan didn't look up. "I found it in a second hand store in town. Some idiot had painted it white with garish tole work, and was using it for a flower tub." Duncan turned over the object, and Julian could see it was a small cradle.

"That'll be useful."

Duncan nodded. "I thought it might be handy for when Methos is working in the library during the day. Save him a trip to the nursery." He picked it up, holding it between his hands. "Reminds me of my own childhood. Nearly every hearth in Glenfinnan had one of these next to it, and I always expected someday..."

He set the cradle back on the workbench and began wiping his hands with a rag without looking at Julian. "Something's wrong with Methos. He won't let me touch him in bed."

"Since when? Last time I was here, you two could hardly keep your hands to yourselves."

"That was before...before he started remembering his time with the Horsemen."

Julian frowned.  "What triggered that?"

Duncan sighed. "We were talking about baby names, and Richie said something about naming the babies after the Immortals whose heads we took to make Methos pregnant."

Julian closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out. "Forgive me for telling you how to deal with your own student, but it occurs to me that a certain young man might be better for a sound thrashing."

"Not with his background," Duncan said firmly, and Julian raised an eyebrow. "Richie was kicked around from one foster home to another, lived on the streets...you know."

Julian sighed. "Unfortunately, all too familiar a story for our kind."

Duncan nodded. "I told Richie a little about the Horsemen, just to keep him from accidentally upsetting Methos more, only Richie just doesn't seem to understand. He keeps pestering Methos for details, compared them to a biker gang, for God's sake."

"Oddly apropos when you think about it, and puts the Horsemen in perspective. Nowadays, they could walk through just about every big city without getting a second look. Which doesn't say much for civilization, does it?" He studied Duncan. "Did Methos ever tell you how he came to join the Horsemen?"

"Yes. I don't quite understand why he didn't leave sooner, but that's all in the past."

"And why do you think his problem is due to memories of the Horsemen?"

Duncan looked up sharply. "Then you _do_ think he has a problem? You think he's behaving oddly, too?"

"With Methos, it's hard to tell," Julian said dryly. "However, in the kitchen over lunch, he seemed upset and withdrawn. And you're using avoidance techniques, Duncan MacLeod, which won't work with me. I studied psychology with an expert."  Duncan's eyes widened and Julian nodded. "Sean and I were good friends." Duncan's face shadowed and he looked away, and Julian squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sure he understood and forgave you. So what's wrong between you and Methos?"

"Methos and I haven't had sex in over a week," Duncan said with a sigh. "He always slept naked, but now he wears boxers and a T-shirt to bed. And if I try to touch him or snuggle against him, he pulls away. But I went downstairs one night, to sleep on the couch, and when I woke up in the morning, he was curled up on the floor, wrapped in a blanket like a mummy, clutching the hem of my robe like a lifeline."

Julian frowned. "Something definitely is bothering him. Have you talked to him about it?"

Duncan sighed. "I've tried but he changes the subject or starts an argument. Day before yesterday, he threw a _book_ at me. He broke the damn thing's spine. Methos, damaging a _book_ , for God's Sake! And he still couldn't talk about it."

Julian was silent for a moment. "When we first came down here, you were dealing with traumatic issues and, as I recall, you wouldn't talk about them, either. Your cousin had to resort to drastic methods to get through to you."

Duncan was appalled. "You want me to do that to _Methos_?"

"Of course not. In his condition, it wouldn't be safe. Although," Julian added dryly, "you might not find it easy to best him. I imagine a pregnant Methos in a fight is more terrifying than a mother grizzly bear. No, what I'm talking about is some sort of catharsis. A way for him to get whatever is bothering him into the open."

"But I can't do anything physical to him - "

"I didn't say that," Julian pointed out. "He needs an emotional release. Do you remember when he found out about the twins?"

"Do I!" Duncan said. "He trashed Joe's bar single handedly."

"Exactly. And afterwards, he was fine with the whole situation."

"I think the locals might object if I let him trash a bar," Duncan pointed out. "And we just got the house put together. I don't need him tearing it apart."

Julian shook his head. "It doesn't have to come to that, but it might unless you do _something_ to get him to open up and talk to you. Or it might even tear you two apart, and I know neither of you wants that." Duncan nodded, and Julian squeezed his shoulder. "Go to him, Mac. Talk to him and get him to talk to you."

Duncan gave him a faint smile. "Thanks."

When he got back to the main house, Duncan found Grace curled up on the library couch with a book. She told him Methos had gone upstairs for a nap, so he went up to their bedroom.

Methos was lying on the bed, curled on his side - well, as curled as he could get. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful, that Duncan couldn't resist the urge to go to him. He sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to wake his lover.

Methos stirred slightly, murmured, "Duncan", flexed his hand around some cloth on the bed, and then drifted back to sleep. Duncan's throat tightened as he realized it was his own robe Methos was clutching so tightly.

"It'll be all right, Methos," he murmured. "Whatever's wrong, I'll make it all right, no matter what it takes. I swear."


	52. Chapter 52

"I don't see why you have to go to Paris _now_."

Duncan turned away from the wardrobe as he tucked in his shirt, and he looked over at his spouse. Methos was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard, looking disgruntled. The discarded breakfast tray lay on the bed next to him, and Duncan sighed as he noticed that Methos had barely touched his food.

Methos seemed to be retreating more and more these days, pulling back behind barriers Duncan couldn't figure out how to scale. He hid behind books and buried himself in work projects, emerging only to flay Duncan or Richie with his tongue. Duncan knew Methos was pushing them away, distancing himself, but he didn't know _why_ or how to get past these new walls.

Patiently, he said, "Methos, you _know_ I have to pick up the papers we had drawn up last month. All our paperwork needs to be finalized before the babies get here: wills, power of attorney, adoption papers. If I don't do this now, I'll have to do it next month, which would be worse."

Methos still looked discontented but Duncan took heart, realizing that, even if Methos was distant, he still wanted him around. Duncan sat down on the bed and reached out to tenderly cup Methos' cheek.

"I don't _want_ to leave you," he said softly. "I _have_ to, and now is the best time because I absolutely refuse to go anywhere during the last two months."

There was a glimmer of something in Methos' eyes, a faint sign that the barriers were thinning. Methos' mouth quirked up slightly at the corner. "Even though I'm a moody bastard and will probably get worse?"

Duncan grinned, glad to see something other than biting sarcasm out of his lover. He spread his arms wide. "Bring it on. I can take whatever you dish out. After knowing you this long, I can stand anything."

"Flattery will get you anywhere," Methos said dryly. Duncan chuckled and went to the wardrobe for his suit jacket. Methos dropped his eyes to the quilt covering the bed and picked at some of the stitches with his nails. "Duncan?" Duncan turned and gave him a questioning look. "I know I've been...more than difficult over the last couple weeks. You're still here, and it's a bloody miracle..."

A wave of dizzy relief swept through Duncan: Methos was opening a window, no matter how small, in his defenses. He wanted to pull the man into his arms, offer him reassurance or whatever it was Methos needed. But he was too seasoned a campaigner to rush the defenses before they were ready to be breached.

He sat on the bed and touched Methos' mouth with his finger, hushing him. "And where else would I be?" he said softly, lightly. "Till death and beyond, remember?"

Methos pressed his lips together tightly and, when Duncan took away his finger, said, "Yes, but I know you didn't bargain for this."

"'Better or worse, richer or poorer,' through mood swings and swollen feet..." Duncan ducked as Methos tried to cuff him. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." He dove in for a quick kiss. "Except to Paris."

"Maaac."

There it was, the familiar teasing tone, and Duncan could feel the giddy, champagne-like thrill of victory close at hand. He was half-tempted to cancel his plans, to give in to Methos. Maybe that small win would make Methos more willing to lower the barricades, to let Duncan inside. But, unfortunately, now _was_ the best time to handle this legal business.

"Methos, I'd stay if I could, but I _promise_ to make it a quick trip. I'll take the train to Paris, pick up the papers, and be on the next train home. Even if I can't get a seat on the TGV, I'll be back by dinner."

Methos sighed. "All right."

"I thought I'd drop by Joe's for a few minutes. You want me to tell him anything?"

Methos' face shadowed. "I already told him I was sorry, for all the good it did."

Duncan took Methos' face between his hands and looked at him seriously. "Joe cares about you and you know it. Yes, he's a little pissed at you right now, but that's nothing new, right? He'll be back here soon, give you hell for a few minutes, and then forgive you. You _know_ that, Methos. Hell, he was the one staunchly defending you when..."  He paused, uncertain if he should continue with what he was going to say, considering recent events. "...when the whole Horsemen thing came up."

Methos nodded slowly. "You're right."

Duncan reeled backward. "Don't _do_ that to me. There's only so many shocks I can stand early in the day."

"Bastard," Methos said, smacking Duncan in the chest. "If you're going, get out of here before I forget you're the father of my babies and take your head."

Duncan smiled and leaned forward to give Methos another kiss, a longer one this time. "I love you, too," he murmured.

He headed out the door, and Methos leaned back into the pillows. The twins were kicking again and he rubbed his belly with a thoughtful look on his face. If Duncan was serious about being with Methos through bad and good, and he certainly sounded like he was, then maybe Methos would talk to him when he returned. Not about all of it, no. But perhaps...if he could get Duncan to understand how he felt about his brothers...

Feeling a little more hopeful than he'd been in weeks, he got out of bed and headed for the shower.

 

* * *

 

Methos entered the kitchen and took particular delight in smiling at Richie as he grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge. The young Immortal immediately looked wary.

"What?" Richie asked suspiciously.

Methos' grin widened. "Nothing. Just wondering if you'd like to spar with me when you're finished eating."

Richie snorted. "Do I _look_ like an idiot?"

"Well, now that you mention it..."

"Mac would have my _head_!"

Methos sighed. "Rich, I'm not talking about a full, go-for-the-throat spar, just a little exercise. Mac and I do it a couple times a week, and I really don't want to get out of practice."

"Practice," Richie repeated. "No setting up the younger guy to get creamed by Mac later, and no tricks?"

"I didn't say that," Methos said, smirking. "In fact, I've got a couple of tricks I think you'd appreciate learning."

Richie's face lit up. "You'd show me some of your moves? That would be so cool! Mac never lets me practice any of the sneaky stuff."

"Mac plays by the rules, but not everyone else does," Methos said, sitting down with his juice. "And you need all the edge you can get."

"Hey, are you dissin' my fighting skills?"

"Well..."

Richie grinned. "You hungry?" he asked, gesturing at his plate of bacon and eggs. "I could make you some of this if you want."

"Mac fed me before he left." Not that he'd eaten much _._ He eyed Richie's plate. "Although that toast looks pretty good."

Richie handed over his toast, then got up to put two slices of bread in the toaster. "I'd forgotten about that."

Methos paused in the middle of spreading marmalade on his toast and looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

"Maria's mom.  You remember Maria, the one you guys saved from Kristen? Anyway, her mom was great to me when we were kids, and I used to spend a lot of time at their house."

"I'm assuming there's a point."

Richie brought the toast back to the table. "Don't have much patience, do you?"

Methos brandished his butter knife. "Just wait till we're sparring, kid." He snagged one of the new pieces of toast and started buttering it.

"Anyway, what I started to say was I remember when Maria's mom was pregnant. She'd always say she wasn't hungry and then scarf our stuff."

"Can I help it if I'm hungry? I _am_ eating for three." Richie mimed zipping-his-lips and Methos laughed. "Oh, you are _so_ going to get it."

"Hey, I've seen the way you move lately. I can outrun you."

Methos shook his head sorrowfully. "The folly of the young and cocky."

"As opposed to the old and cranky?" Methos aimed a cuff at Richie's head and he ducked away, laughing. "God, I missed this!" Richie said impulsively.

"Missed what?"

" _This_. Joking with you. It's like you've been, I dunno, _gone_ for the last couple weeks."

Methos' face shuttered and he stared down at his toast. "Maybe I have my reasons."

"Well, duh."

" _Duh_? The wit of the young is sadly underrated," Methos said, picking up his juice.

"I figured you and Mac were having problems in the sack."

Methos spewed his juice. " _What_?"

"Well, you've been pissy, and Mac looks like someone told him there was no Santa, so..." Richie shrugged.

"Mac and I are _not_ having problems 'in the sack'."

"Oh, yeah? When was the last time you two did it?"

"None of your business!"

"That long, huh?"

Methos glared. "Is everything about sex?"

Richie sighed. "Methos, I died when I was _nineteen_. Of _course_ everything is about sex!"

"There are more important things, Richard Ryan!"

Richie grinned. "You sound just like my third foster mother. She was pissed that I don't have a middle name, said it just wasn't as effective making threats without all three names."

"I am _not_ your foster mother!"

"No," Richie said reflectively. "More like a step-mom, considering you married 'Dad'."

Methos' mouth dropped open, then he closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes at Richie. "You are _not_ calling me 'mom'."

"Of course not," Richie said agreeably. "That's Tessa.  You'd have to be the Wicked Stepmother."

Methos stared at Richie for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Anyone ever tell you that you're seriously twisted, kid?"

Richie grinned. "Coming from you, I'm gonna assume that's a compliment, O Wicked One. So, if you and Mac aren't having problems in bed, what's the deal?"

"The _deal_ is that, whatever problems we're having, they're between _me_ and _Mac_."

"So, talk to him." Richie watched Methos shred his remaining piece of toast. "Hey, I know Mac isn't always the easiest guy to talk to but you can't just keep walking around here with this... _whatever_ it is eating at you."

Methos abandoned his toast completely. He couldn't believe he was talking to _Richie_ about this, but the kid was there and he didn't judge. "But what if he can't understand what I'm feeling or it makes him hate me?"

"Will you be any worse off than you are right now?" Richie asked.

"Yes," Methos said baldly. "Denial and I are old friends, and I can float a raft on that river for a long, long time."

"Yeah, but if you think Mac'll climb on the raft with you, you're nuts."

A wry smile lifted the corner of Methos' mouth. "He's more the type to turn the raft over, isn't he? And I really hate water."

"Then reach out, man," Richie said softly. "You got friends waiting to pull you to shore."

Unexpectedly, Methos found his throat tightening. "Yes, well, if we're going to spar anytime this century, I'd better get upstairs and change. God knows it takes me an hour to put on shoes, and that's _after_ I've found my feet."

Richie chuckled and let the subject go for now. As he watched Methos head towards the stairs, he thought he just might have made up for the problems his curiosity had caused.

Even if he still wanted to know what pillaging was.

 

* * *

 

Swearing, Methos twisted a bath sheet around his body and headed for the bedroom. The phone continued ringing so Richie was obviously taking his own shower after their workout. Methos snatched it up and snapped "Hello."

"Methos?"

"Mac?" Methos smiled, sitting on the bed.

"You sound out of breath. You're not doing something you shouldn't be, are you?"

"Calm down, Mother Hen. I was in the shower when the phone rang, that's all. A nice, long, _hot_ shower, I might add."

Duncan's chuckled. "Having a good day?"

"Tolerable," Methos said. He unwrapped an end of the towel so he could rub it over his hair. "How about you? On your way home?" He glanced over at the clock. "If you're going to be here in time for dinner, I thought I'd make Pullus Fusilis." _And a nice bottle of white wine, a little candlelight...and then talk. And I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from_ Richie _..._

"Which would be what, exactly?"

"Chicken with a liquid filling, you Celtic barbarian."

"Ah, one of _those_ recipes." He heard Duncan sigh. "Unfortunately, I won't be home for dinner."

Methos drew in a deep breath and let it out. "All right. What time do you think you'll get in?" Silence. "You _will_ be home tonight?"

"One of the papers having to do with the adoption got tied up by some official red tape. It took our lawyer most of the afternoon to get it sorted out and it's going to be delivered to me by courier but that won't be till the morning."

"You have _got_ to be kidding. You're staying in Paris because of _paperwork_?"

Duncan sighed. "Methos, if it were just a challenge, nothing would keep me away. But this is the French bureaucracy; we're lucky I only have to wait a day. I've already made a reservation on the morning TGV.  I'll get the papers and be home in time for lunch."

"I see," Methos said. He listened to the noises in the background - clearly not a lawyer's office - and stiffened. "Well, don't let me keep you," he said coldly. "Do whatever it is you have to do. In fact, stay a few extra days, have a good time. I'm sure I'll be just fine."

Even over the phone line, Duncan could feel Methos' barriers going up, higher than before. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Methos, I'm at Joe's. Remember? I told you I planned to stop by. You can ask Joe if you don't believe me."

"Joe and I aren't speaking right now."

"Methos..."

"Something else, MacLeod? I'm sure it can wait till you return, whenever that is."

Duncan exploded. "Dammit, it's not like I'm carousing around Paris!"

"Please, feel free to carouse all you want," he said. "Maybe you'll even get lucky, which is more than you've gotten at home lately."

"Methos, I didn't come to Paris to get _lucky_!" Duncan said furiously. "I'm married, dammit! To _you_!"

"Married to someone who's fat, ugly, and has the personality of a fishwife."

Duncan took in a deep breath and contemplated banging his head on the bar. "Methos, I _adore_ you and I think you're incredibly beautiful. I'm going to pick up those legal papers in the morning, then I'm coming home to _you_."

"Fine. Now, if you don't mind, I have a shower to finish."

Methos disconnected the phone and tossed it on the nightstand, then flopped on the bed and turned on his side. Harvey seemed to have found his way onto the bed again, and Methos wrapped his arms around the stuffed animal. Deciding he was too tired to think about dinner or getting dressed, and ignoring the phone ringing and ringing, Methos curled around the bunny and went to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Duncan disconnected his cell phone, muttering, "Fuck!" Joe raised his eyebrows.

"I take it the old man was being more difficult than usual?" Joe said, setting a glass of Scotch in front of Duncan.

Duncan snorted. "Try impossible."

Joe cocked his head, studying his Immortal. "He seemed his normal self when I was up there last. A little moodier than usual, but that's not unexpected."

Duncan sighed. "If it was just mood swings, I could cope. But he's isolated himself. Retreated inside his head and pulled up the drawbridge. He hides behind his damn books or his work, barely talking to me or Richie. His sense of humor is shot to hell, and if he _does_ say anything to either of us, it's so caustic you feel like you need first aid afterwards."

"Sounds like he's mighty defensive about something," Joe observed. "So what do you do when he pushes you away like that?"

Duncan looked at him, puzzled. "Why, leave him alone, of course. If he wants space..."

Joe sighed, shaking his head. "Mac, when are you going to learn that what he wants, and what he _says_ he wants are two different things?"

"I _tried_ to get close to him, and he nearly took a piece out of my skin!"

Joe gave him an impatient look. "If I know you, Mac - and I think I damn well do by now - you tried too hard. You're always trying to fix things and sometimes you just _can't_. Sometimes you just gotta hold on tight and _listen_."

"What are we trying to fix?" Julian asked, sliding onto the bar stool next to Duncan.

"Adam," Duncan said, cautious about speaking Methos' true name now that the bar was filling up.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that he was broken." He nodded his thanks to Joe as the bartender set a beer in front of him. "What's he up to now?"

"That's just it - nothing," Duncan said with a sigh. He described Methos' recent behavior to Julian, ending with, "I'm completely at a loss."

Julian sat staring at his beer, one fingernail picking at the label. "Mac, last time we talked, you said Adam had only told you about how he came to join the Horsemen, right?  Is that still the case?" Duncan nodded.  "He hasn't talked about their last days, about their destruction and how he feels about that?"

"No. Should he?"

"He should, but he's obviously suppressing his feelings instead of working through them."

 Duncan frowned.  "All that happened months ago, and he seemed fine until just the last few weeks."

Julian sighed. "Duncan, there are several stages to grieving, and one doesn't work through them in an orderly fashion or on any set timeline. You jump around like mad: maybe angry one moment, confused another, mourning and then guilty, and so forth.  Months or even years may pass while you process all these feelings and finally accept them"

"So why won't he talk about this?"

Joe snorted. "Get real, Mac. The first time he told you about the Horsemen, you got so upset that you told him you two were through."

Duncan's eyes widened. "You think he still expects me to feel that way? But that's ridiculous! I wouldn't have married him if I couldn't accept his past."

"Does he know that?" Julian asked pointedly.

"He damn well should! What was the point of giving me that CD with his journals on it if he didn't think I could accept his past?"

Joe's eyes lit up. "M - Adam gave you his personal journals? Oh, man, what I wouldn't give for a look at that!"

Duncan gave his Watcher an irritated look. "Joe, we're having a domestic crisis, so snap out of Watcher mode." He turned to Julian who had finished shredding the label on his bottle. _Like teacher, like student,_ Duncan thought fondly. "Julian?"

"Have you ever told him that? Said it straight out, that you accept him and his past?"

"Well, no, but..."

Julian shook his head. "No 'buts', Mac. Adam may understand in his head that you wouldn't have married him if you didn't trust him, but his heart is an entirely different matter."

Duncan frowned into his Scotch. "You really think telling him that will help?"

Julian shrugged. "It can't hurt."

"But don't try to fix things for him," cautioned Joe. "He has to deal with this himself; he just needs someone to listen and understand."

Duncan half-smiled. "Like a bartender?"

Joe grinned. "You got it, pal."

"Okay," Duncan said, nodding. "I can listen. It'll half-kill me to not try to fix things, but I'll keep it under control."

"And if worse comes to worst," Julian said, "I'll be coming down in three days to help."

 

* * *

 

The sun was shining brightly into the bedroom when Methos woke.. He groaned and rolled onto his other side, trying to go back to sleep.  Insomnia had kept him up till dawn, but now the babies were playing soccer with his full bladder and wouldn't let him sleep. He groaned again and pulled himself out of bed and into the bathroom. 

Business finished, he crawled back into bed and stared at the empty half of the bed, then  turned his back on it. He tried to will himself back to sleep, but rest seemed to have departed for happier climes.  

After fifteen minutes, Methos gave up. A mixture of anger and depression had settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't bear the thought of food but something to drink sounded like a good idea. Sighing, he struggled out of bed and hunted up a shirt and boxers, then wrapped Duncan's robe around him. It wouldn't completely close in front anymore, but the comfort of wearing his lover's clothing compensated for the fashion shortcomings.

Richie was sitting at the kitchen table, working his way through a full breakfast including eggs, bacon, toasted bagels, orange juice, and coffee. He looked up with a smile.

"Morning," he said cheerfully. "I cooked enough for two - want me to fix you a plate?"

Methos shrugged, poured himself some juice, and sat down. Richie got up, filled another plate with food, and set it down in front of him.

"You look like hell."

"How delightful. Now I know the outside matches the inside."

"Rough night with Mac away?" Richie asked sympathetically. "And why did he stay in Paris? You didn't exactly mention it last night."

"As far as I know, Mac had a hot date." Methos kept his tone light and ironic while he stared at the food Rich had put in front of him. He reached for a bagel and chewed it slowly, pushing the eggs around with a fork.

Richie snorted. "A hot date? Mac? I don't _think_ so. C'mon, Methos, what was the hang up?"

Methos took a deep breath and resisted the urge to snap. "Something about papers not being ready at the attorney's office," he said, then added, "As if he couldn't have come back home and then gone back when they were ready."

"Uh huh." Richie decided it was healthier to just agree and not point out how much back and forth travel that would involve.

Methos ate half his bagel and felt his stomach settle slightly. He even managed a few bites of eggs before pushing the plate away. "Thanks, Rich," he said, quietly. "That was good." He headed for the sink with his plate.

Richie intercepted him, taking the plate. "No," Richie said firmly. "You look tired. I'll get the dishes. You go rest, okay?"

"Rich, I'm not an invalid. I'm just pregnant," he grumbled.

"Yeah, but you really do look tired. C'mon, man, let me do it. You go write in your journal. Translate something. Chill."

Methos managed to summon up a smile. "Fine, Rich. Thank you. I'll meet you in the salle in an hour to spar, all right?"

"You got it, man," Rich said enthusiastically. "You sure you're up for it?"

"Oh, I think I need it badly," Methos said, heading back upstairs to get his journal and try to write out his jumbled thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, writing in his journal did nothing to calm Methos' increasingly bad mood. By the time he stopped to get ready to work out, he was irritated with the world in general and Duncan in particular. He changed into his workout clothes and, on a whim, strapped on his usual arsenal of concealed knives, deciding that Richie needed a lesson in coping with concealed secondary weapons. Satisfied with his preparations, he headed down to the salle.

Richie was already there, stretching and limbering up with his sword propped up against the wall. Methos looked at it and raised his eyebrows.

"Live blades, Rich? I'm not sure that's safe."

"Oh, c'mon, Methos. I want to spar with real swords, see what you can do."

Methos stared at Richie. "You want to see what _I_ can _do_ _?_ "

"Yeah," Richie said eagerly. "You could teach me so many tricks."

Methos stared at the young man, wondering which of them had lost his mind, then took out his sword. "Fine," he said shortly. "Let's see how good I am."

Methos took a stance with his knees bent and feet wider apart than usual, a position he had found gave him the best balance with his new, lower center of gravity. He and Richie circled each other carefully, testing a few attacks.

Richie suddenly met Methos' blade high and to the left, pushing it down and to the right. Methos allowed his blade to be pushed aside, then moved swiftly, grabbing Richie's wrist and twisting into the nerve with his thumb.

As Richie dropped his sword, Methos swung his blade up and around, swatting the younger man soundly across the ass with the flat. Richie yelped and glared in outrage.

"Hey!" he said indignantly. "Not fair."

"No? It _wasn't_ fair, but it was damned effective. Hasn't Mac taught you better than to fall for a simple move like that?"

Richie blushed. "You caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting hand to hand combat along with sparring."

Methos stared at him incredulously. "Then you're a fool, Rich. Pick up your blade. And be warned.  I won't be swatting you next time."

Richie grinned. "I stand warned." He picked up his sword and stood _en garde_.

Methos took up his stance, waited a moment, then abruptly launched a series of beat strokes.  Richie parried skillfully in a style very like Mac's.

"Well fought, boychick," Methos said approvingly.

Richie grinned, recognizing the word from "A Clockwork Orange", which they'd watched a few days earlier. "Hey, high praise from Death, huh? C'mon, what it was like to have so many people scared of you. To be, like, one of the scariest creatures on two feet." He grinned wider. "Hey, seeing that you were a Horseman, would that be one of the scariest creatures on _four_ feet? C'mon. Tell."

Methos froze. He suddenly heard Kronos' voice echoing in his head and saw his brother in the abandoned power station in Seacouver.

_"No? Tell me you haven't missed it," Kronos said, his voice low and seductive as he hissed in Methos' ear._

_"The killing?" Methos asked incredulously._

_Kronos leaned back on the rail, growling, "The freedom! The power!" He lowered his voice, continuing in an intense and seductive tone, "Riding out of the sun, knowing that you're the most terrifying thing that they've ever seen. Knowing that their weapons and their gods are useless against you, that you're the last thing they'll ever see."_

_Methos closed his eyes and Kronos leaned closer, "That's what you're meant to be, Methos. Don't fight it, feel it," Kronos' voice went on persuasively, and Methos was now trembling and shaking his head. He'd left it all behind so long ago, in the past where it belonged..._

He snapped back to the present, to find that he'd been fighting on autopilot but that Richie had driven him back while he was distracted. His eyes became cold and hard.

Richie stared at him with concern. "You okay, man?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Methos said, deadly quiet. He suddenly went on the attack again, savagely backing Richie to the wall, binding his blade. Then he suddenly lowered his own blade, slashing Richie across the right thigh.

Richie gasped, dropping his sword and clutching at the wound. "Goddammit, Methos! That _hurts_!"

"Pick up your blade, Ryan," he hissed. "You want to know what it felt like to have so many people frightened of me? I'll show you. _Pick up your blade."_

Richie's mouth went dry. Reluctantly, he reached for his sword. He raised the weapon in front of him, putting his weight on the uninjured left leg. Methos struck and Richie parried, but not as easily as he had earlier. Methos allowed his blade to carried down and away, swept his sword arm back, and left himself open.

Richie moved in to take advantage of the sudden vulnerability, and Methos turned inside Richie's thrust and to the side, now bringing his sword down across the left thigh. Richie went down to his knees, dropping his sword and biting his lip to keep from screaming. But Methos wasn't through with him. He whipped the knife out of his back scabbard and slammed the hilt into the nerve point under Richie's ear, hearing Richie gasp with pain. Then Methos swiftly turned the knife, slicing open Richie's cheek before resting the point against his throat.

Richie screamed at the flare of pain along his face, then went totally still as the knife rested against his neck. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep from crying out again, and stared up at the total stranger threatening his life.

"Get out," Methos said with quiet fury. "Get out of my sight. In fact, get off my property. Don't _ever_ ask me about the Horsemen again."

Richie knelt on the floor, staring up at Methos with shock and pain on his face. Methos dropped both sword and knife and stepped away, giving him room to move. Richie staggered to his feet, flickering blue healing running over his wounds. He looked over at Methos but the other Immortal refused to meet his eyes.

"Grab a change of clothes and go." Methos' voice was weary and drained; Richie hesitated. " _Now_!"

Richie fled.

Methos sank to the floor, leaned his head back against the wall. He couldn't believe he had lost it so completely and couldn't even begin to imagine what Duncan would have to say about this fiasco. Maybe he wouldn't even have to tell Duncan about his fears. Maybe he would just leave him because of this vicious attack on his student. He shuddered and stroked his belly, wondering how he could possibly cope with them on his own, and was only vaguely reassured by the kicking inside as the babies moved.

Methos heard an engine turn over and realized that Richie was taking his car instead of the motorcycle. "Damn it, Richard Ryan," he muttered wearily. "Trust you to leave me stranded here." He thought about dragging himself back to the house, to a hot shower and a warm bed, but it seemed like too much effort at the moment. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall...and tried to ignore the sound of Kronos' laughter in his ears.


	53. Chapter 53

Duncan looked around the barge, trying to see if there was anything else he needed to take back to the house. His duffle bag sat on the bed, containing the clothes he'd worn the previous day as well as the legal documents he'd come to Paris to get. It was an hour till his train left and time to head to the station.

As he dropped the bag by the door and secured the locks, his cell phone began ringing. He grabbed the duffle bag and fished his phone out of his pocket.

"MacLeod."

It was Richie. "Mac, I sure hope you're on your way home."

Duncan stiffened. "Why? What's happened?"

"Methos threw me out."

"What?" Duncan hastened to the street, flagging down a taxi. "What are you talking about?" He told the driver "Montparnasse," then sat back to try to make sense of what Richie was saying.

"I'm talking about Methos. We were sparring and talking, and he did a total freak on me. Told me to get out, to get off the property."

"And you took him _seriously_?"

"It was kinda hard not to, Mac, since he had a pointy weapon at my throat."

"God," Duncan said, running his hand over his face. "So where are you now?"

"Just where you make the turn off the main road. I figure it's way outside his sensing distance. From here, I can see if anyone tries to get into or out of your place."

Duncan let out a relieved breath. "Good job, Richie."

"And I took the car, left my bike. Figured he couldn't get very far that way."

"Good thinking," Duncan frowned as a sudden question occurred to him. "Richie, did you do something to make him upset?"

Defensively, Richie said, "Hey, why do you assume it was something _I_ did? I'm wondering if the old guy has, like, multiple personalities."

Duncan snorted. "No, he's just one big pain-in-the-ass personality. And you're not answering my question, which makes me think you were pushing him again."

"It was just one little question, what it was like to have all those people afraid of him..."

Duncan snapped, "Goddammit, Richie, why can't you leave him alone about the Horsemen?"

Richie said in a small voice, "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't realize it would make him freak."

"When I get home," Duncan said grimly, "and get this mess sorted out, you and I are going to have a long, long talk. You understand me, Richard Ryan?"

"Yeah, Mac. Loud and clear," Richie said resignedly. "So you _are_ coming home soon?"

"I'll be there about three hours from now. Keep an eye on the place and Methos for me, and I'll meet you just below the gate."

Duncan disconnected and shoved the phone into his pocket. It sounded like they were in for a rough afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Shortly after one, Duncan unlocked the front door and entered the house, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Methos? Where are you?"

Methos appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. "You bellowed, O Lord and Master?"

"Thank God you're okay," Duncan dropped his bag and moved to take Methos in his arms. Methos stiffened, not responding, and Duncan sighed, releasing him. "What in hell did you think you were doing, sending Richie off like that? Something could have happened to you!"

Methos tapped his head. "Still attached, MacLeod."

"Which is more than can be said for your brains. What were you _thinking_?"

"I was _thinking_ I might like some peace and quiet for a change," Methos said icily. "You know, there was a time when I could go for _days_ without talking to anyone. Time when I could get my _work_ done. Time when I was treated like a _person_ instead of a broodmare."

"No one treats you like a broodmare," Duncan pointed out. "Everyone treats you with the utmost care and consideration, which is _not_ the way you've been treating _us_ lately!"

Methos gave him a cold, hard look. "Well _pardon me_! After all, I'm just a marauder and I don't know any better." He strolled past Duncan and into the library as if declaring the conversation over.

Duncan pursued him through the library and onto the terrace. "That's not funny, Methos."

"Not meant to be, MacLeod." Methos picked up his book and prepared to sit down.

Duncan snapped. He was tired of Methos retreating when it didn't make anything better, and it was time to put a stop to it. He snatched the book out of Methos' hands and tossed it onto a chair. "Goddammit, I am so _sick_ of this!"

Methos' eyes glittering with anger, and Duncan had a sudden uneasy feeling, as if he'd poked at a hornet's nest once too often. Something dangerous was stirring behind the walls Methos had built up, and Duncan knew that whatever was about to happen, it wasn't going to be pretty. _But maybe it's necessary._ There was a tickle of _Something_ inside his head, a familiar voice. _Sean?_

"Sick. Of. What?" Methos bit off every word. "Sick of me?"

"Never! I love you, you silly bastard, and I'm not leaving you. I told you that before I left for Paris, remember?"

"I also remember you told me it would only be for one day," Methos spat out. "Funny how _that_ turned out to be wrong."

Duncan saw the dark circles under Methos' eyes, the fatigue on his face, and his heart ached. "I'm sorry, Methos. I would have been back here if I could have, but - "

"The papers," Methos said, nodding his head. "I know. But guess what? I don't give a _fuck_ about the bloody papers!"

Duncan tried to pull Methos into his arms. "I'm here now."

Methos pushed him away forcefully. "Don't _touch_ me! I don't need Duncan MacLeod to solve my problems!"

Duncan dropped his arms back down by his side, frustrated by his spouse's contradictory behavior. "Dammit, Methos, would you make up your mind? What in hell do you need from me?"

"What I need," he said coldly, "is to be left alone. Is that too difficult a concept to grasp?"

As Duncan stared after him, Methos strode into the house and up the stairs to their room. Duncan thought he could feel the house shake when the door slammed, and then, in the ominous quiet that followed, he heard the click of a door being locked.

Fury boiled up in Duncan's veins. He'd put up with mood swings, temper tantrums, and unjust accusations, but he was damned if he was going to be locked out of his own bedroom.

He stomped up the stairs and banged on the door. "Methos, open this door right now!"

"Go to hell, MacLeod!" came the reply muffled by the closed door.

Duncan ground his teeth together, even more infuriated by the response. He threw his body against the door. On the second attempt, he felt the old frame begin to give way, and on the third it broke. Duncan paid no attention to the door hanging crookedly on its frame as he slammed it open and blasted into the room.

Methos lay on the bed, eyes wide with surprise for a moment before they narrowed.  "Oh, very macho," he said, dropping his book on the bed and getting up. "I suppose I should swoon and let you sweep me up in your strong arms and carry me away."

"You," Duncan said, advancing and grabbing him by both arms, "are _not_ going to keep shutting me out like this. Do you hear me?"

"I _don't_ want to talk about it." Methos broke free from Duncan's grip and tried to get around him to the door.

Duncan grabbed him by the arm again. "Oh, no. You're not leaving. We're having this out, right here, right now."

"Or what?" Methos demanded, tilting his chin up. "No truck to throw me up against this time, MacLeod. No church steps, either."

"I'm thinking very seriously of throwing you down on the bed," Duncan said grimly, "and whacking your ass until you talk to me."

Methos' eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

"Don't push me," Duncan warned, "because I am _this close_..."

"Oh, very nice,  Tough Guy.  What makes you think I'd _let_ you throw me around this time?"

" _Let_ me - ?"

"Problem with your hearing, MacLeod? Maybe I can help you with that."

Before Duncan could move or speak, a knife he'd never seen before was in Methos' hand. With murderous focus, he plunged it into the night-table, cracking the top in two before pushing the whole thing over. Everything cascaded onto the floor: glass shattered, plastic cases split, the lamp exploded, and the phone uttered one shrill protest before it died. Duncan stared at the mess for a stunned moment, then looked at Methos.

"What in hell do you think you're doing?"

Methos' lips tightened and he headed for the door again but Duncan caught his arm.

"Stop it," Duncan said firmly. As Methos tried to jerk his arm free, he said, "Look, there's no way for me to keep you here in this room and make you talk to me, but I love you, and nothing you could ever tell me would make me stop loving you. Not even if you said you didn't love  me anymore." Methos stopped struggling and appeared to be listening, so Duncan went right for the jugular. "You still love me, don't you?"

"Shit," Methos muttered, and Duncan could almost see him deflating before his eyes. "You don't play fair, do you?"

Duncan smiled and risked planting a kiss on Methos' cheek. "I learned from the best. Are you going to talk now?"

Methos rubbed his hand over his face. "There isn't any point. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." Duncan relaxed his grip, turning Methos in his arms so he could look in his face. "Now, what exactly is going on in that labyrinth you call a brain?"

"You have no idea," Methos said tightly, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead forward to rest on Duncan's shoulder. "You can't possibly understand."

"Then _make_ me understand. Talk to me."

Methos opened his eyes, and Duncan was shocked by the depth of pain in them.  "I don't want them to be dead," he whispered. "Well, Caspian, maybe, but not Kronos. Not Silas. I don't want them _near_ me, but I don't want them to be dead. They were my _brothers_."

Duncan nodded. "I know."

Methos suddenly flared into anger and he jerked away from Duncan. "You know _nothing_ , MacLeod! A thousand years we stood shield for each other.  A thousand _years_! Longer than most Immortals even live! We were strong, stronger than anyone else. We took what we wanted, went where we wanted, and no one, mortal or Immortal, could stand against us. Can you _imagine_ what it's like to know there's someone you can trust to watch your back?"

A faint smile touched the corners of Duncan's mouth, and his expression was soft as he looked at Methos. "I think I can."

Methos ignored him, pacing across the room to the French doors. "Do you know why I stayed, even when I'd gotten tired of the killing and destruction? Because I wasn't alone. They were aliveand they _stayed_ alive. A thousand years, Mac. I can't even remember how many wives I'd buried by then - fifteen, twenty?" He made an impatient gesture. "It doesn't matter - they all _died_ , no matter how much I loved them."

"And your brothers lived, no matter how much you hated them."

Methos sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "Love...hate...there aren't any words to describe how we felt about each other. Silas and Caspian would fight over anything and everything - loot, slaves, the color of the sky - but they'd kill any one who threatened the other. Kronos was a psychopathic bastard but...I couldn't kill him."

Duncan nodded. "I know. He was family."

Methos was filled with a wave of fury and grief so intense that he could hardly breath. He wrapped his arms around his chest, drawing in painful breaths and trying to keep down the bile that flooded the back of his throat.

"Goddammit! Why couldn't the bastard just _stay_ _away_ , leave me alone? Why did he have to make me destroy him? And _why_ did he make me kill Silas? Silas _trusted_ me!" His face darkened with grief and pain. "He trusted me and I betrayed him. I should have left him in his forest. I should have gotten him out of that goddamn place. I didn't try hard enough."

Methos could barely see for the tears blinding his eyes. "Silas wasn't _evil_. He was just stupid and needy, and he depended on me to take care of him. I should have taken him home to his farm. Oh, god! The look in his eyes when I swung my sword with this hand and killed him..."

He moved as he spoke, swinging around and then thrusting - thrusting his right hand through a pane of glass in the French doors.

Duncan was moving in a second, snatching a towel from the laundry hamper while Methos stood staring at his hand, shock in his eyes as he watched blood run off it. He looked up at Duncan as he wrapped the cloth around the wounded hand.

"I forgot I don't heal quickly anymore," he said shakily.

"Idiot." Duncan towed Methos into the bathroom, closed the toilet lid, and pointed. "Sit."

Methos sat, feeling a little unreal around the edges. _Shock_ , his medical side diagnosed. _Stress induced disassociation..._

"Give me that," Duncan said, pulling Methos' arm over to the sink pedestal. Carefully, he unwrapped the hand, wincing at the sight of the damage. "Shit, Methos. You really did a number on yourself this time." He rinsed away the glass, checking through the bleeding wounds for any remaining slivers.

Methos stared numbly at his hand, cataloging the numerous little cuts and one or two big ones. _That one's a bleeder_ , he absently noted. _Needs more than a bit of pressure._

Duncan grabbed Methos' left hand and made him press down on the sluggishly bleeding cut. "Hold this and stay put." He glared at Methos. "And I _mean_ that."

Methos didn't reply, staring with fascination at his hand as Duncan left the room. There wasn't the familiar blue zipping over the wounds and they certainly weren't closing up. _Right_ , he remembered. _Reduced healing. Bloody stupid thing to do, old son._ He snickered. _Bloody. Definitely_. He snickered again.

Duncan frowned at him as he came back in. "What in hell are you laughing about?"

Methos wiggled his hand. "Bloody stupid. Get it?"

Duncan rolled his eyes as he set a first aid kit on the counter. Once again, he took the injured hand back into his own. Delicately, he cleaned the worst cut, then threaded a needle and set a few stitches to close it. "I'll get _you_ if you ever try anything that stupid again. Do you hear me, Methos? You are _not_ to hurt yourself, for _any_ reason."

Methos' eyes were back on his hand. "What if I need to hurt?" he whispered.

He could feel Duncan's eyes on him. "Then you come to me; I'll do what I can for you."

Methos looked up at Duncan, and said in a plaintive voice, "You threatened to _spank_ me."

Duncan grinned at him, relieved to hear Methos sounding more like his normal self. "Yes, I did. Julian said you might need something physical to shake you up, breach your defenses, and it was the only thing I could think of at the moment." He glared at Methos. "Maybe if I had, you wouldn't have felt the need to do _this_ ," he said, indicating the cut hand.

The corner of Methos' mouth crooked up as he gave Duncan a speculative look. "Maybe. Is that a hint of future possibilities?"

"More than a hint," Duncan said. "And you remember: you want pain, you come and talk to me and we'll work something out. A workout like Connor gave me, a spanking, S&M play, whatever it is you need."

Methos grimaced. "I'd look pretty stupid in slave gear." He gesturing toward his belly.

"I think you'd look pretty hot," Duncan said, shrugging. "Black leather and gold chains around your ankles and wrists and neck, with that beautiful belly exposed for me to worship."  

Methos drew in a sharp breath, feeling a spike of arousal for the first time in days, and filed the image away for later.

Duncan was still checking out his wounds, closing one with a butterfly and leaving the others to heal naturally.  He said quietly, "That's not all that's been bothering you, is it?" Methos looked away and he said, "Are you going to tell me about it?"

Methos sighed. "You won't like it. It's even worse than what I already told you."

"Methos, don't you know by now that you can tell me anything?" Duncan asked gently.

Methos looked up, startled, and saw nothing but warm, affectionate trust in Duncan's eyes. Abashed, he dropped his head again and bit his lip, still reluctant to speak.

"I already know you miss your brothers," Duncan said matter-of-factly.  He wasn't going to let Methos know about the small, burning lump of jealousy that gave him. Methos was dealing with more than his share of issues. Duncan would just have to come to terms with the fact that he would always harbor feelings of some kind for his dead brothers. And in the end, Methos chose him.

"You feel guilty about bring about their deaths," he said.

Methos nodded. "And then there's the whole thing with Joe..."

"For someone who hasn't done guilt for centuries, you sure chose a rough way to pick up the habit again," Duncan said and Methos snorted.  "You've been keeping this to yourself, letting it eat you up inside for weeks.  I thought you trusted me."

Methos' head sunk further on his chest. "Sorry," he muttered, through a throat that felt swollen shut. "Didn't mean to hurt you. Trust you more than _anyone_. _Ever_."

Duncan lifted Methos' chin up, making their eyes meet. "And I trust _you_. The Horsemen are in the past. I _accepted_ that long before I asked you to marry me."

He paused to choose his words carefully. "Methos, has it occurred to you that I've thought about what you've done since you were part of the Horsemen? How many lives you've saved as a doctor, the way you've made amends..."

"I didn't do that to make amends."

"Uh huh. You just helped others out of sheer, unthinking altruism, right?"

A slight smile curved Methos' lips. "I don't do altruism."

"And as for _forgiving..._ _It_ would be pretty cheeky of me to absolve you of actions done centuries before I was born, wouldn't it?"

The smile got bigger. "I like cheeky."

"You would," Duncan snorted. He gave Methos' hand a last inspection. "Done. Let's take this conversation somewhere a little more comfortable."

Duncan led Methos into the bedroom and settled him on the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. Duncan sat across from him, their knees touching, and took back Methos' bandaged hand.

"Methos, I know you feel wretched about getting the babies from your brothers' deaths, but maybe you should look at it as a gift from them. A redemption of their lives. Not that I want to name the children after them," he added hastily.

"No Joseph Silas Kronos, then?"

"Hell, no."

Methos grinned at the emphatic answer, then his smile faded. "And if they aren't dead? What if they've been reborn? What if they're here, inside me?" He rested his hand on his abdomen.

Duncan's eyes widened. "You _can't_ be serious! You think your brothers will be... what?.. reincarnated as our babies?" Duncan felt a wave of panic wash over him. Surely God wouldn't be so cruel, to hold out the promise of children he'd wanted so badly for so long, and then snatch it away from him.

Methos winced and Duncan realized he'd been squeezing his injured hand tightly. With a murmured apology, he loosened his hold as he tried to come to grips with this idea. The Horsemen, reborn as his children? Kronos, free to walk the earth again? Impossible, the thought.

"Impossible," he said out loud, but whether it was to reassure himself or Methos, he couldn't say. "I've never heard of another Immortal coming back like that."

Methos snorted. "Mac, you'd never heard of an Immortal getting _pregnant_. Kronos had a very strong personality, and they were both inside me when...when..."

"When I got you pregnant," Duncan finished. He shook his head. "No. I don't believe that. Not even Kronos could come back."

"Twins, Mac? What are the odds? Julian's _never_ seen Immortal twins."

"He's also never seen a double shared Quickening." He shook his head again, feeling even more certain. "No. It's not going to happen."

Methos' lips twisted. "This isn't a fairy tale, Mac. Wishing doesn't make something come true. And if they _have_ been reborn, then one day, one day I'll have to watch you fight them, and choose between you or them."

Startled, Duncan said, "What in hell are you talking about?"

Methos pushed himself up and off the bed. "Cassandra," he said shortly. "Remember her prophecy? I'll have to choose between you and the children, and if I choose wrong, there will be a thousand years of darkness."

"You think _that's_ what she meant?" Duncan asked, disbelievingly, as he turned on the bed to watch his spouse pace.

"What else _could_ she mean?"

"There are _lots_ of things! Parents are always having to choose between spouse and children, one way or another."

"Yes, but not with a threat of a thousand years of destruction hanging over her head!"

Duncan sighed and held out his hand coaxingly. "Methos, stop pacing and come back here. We can't spend the rest of our lives agonizing over that thought.  It'll drive us crazy! Not to mention being bad for the babies."

"And if they're already bad will it matter?" Methos let himself be drawn back onto the bed, into Duncan's arms.

Duncan kissed Methos gently. "Methos, no one is _born_ bad. Even Kronos was once an innocent, harmless baby. It's what happens to children as they grow up that twists them."

Methos shook his head. "The nurture versus nature argument? I've seen too many times where perfectly wonderful parents had children who turned into monsters."

"So have I, but I still think what we do as parents is a big factor," Duncan said stubbornly. "And if our babies _are_ their souls reborn, then we'll just have to raise them with all the love we can and give them the right sort of guidance."

He tenderly kissed Methos. "You've been worrying about this for weeks, haven't you? It must have been terrifying, dealing with it alone."

Methos buried his face against Duncan's shoulder. "I've been scared shitless."

 _Tell me about it_ , Duncan thought. _I'm terrified out of my mind, and I've only been dealing with it for a few minutes._ He wrapped his arms around Methos, holding him close. "I'll bet. And if you'd just _talked_ to me..."

"Smart ass," Methos grumbled.

Duncan drew a deep breath, willing away his own fears. "You _do_ know this whole thing is pretty far-fetched, don't you? That you're worrying about nothing? Most pregnant mothers have these kinds of fears. Anne was convinced Mary would have three arms for the longest time, just because she had a dream about it."

Methos lifted his head and gave Duncan a mock-glare. "I'm not 'most pregnant mothers'."

"No, you're not," Duncan said, leaning in for a kiss. "You're very, very special."

"Duncan," Methos moaned before his words were swallowed up. Duncan tilted them so they fell sideways on the mattress with their arms around each other.

Their kisses, tenderly passionate at first, soon turned desperately hungry. Duncan had Methos naked within minutes, not an easy task with all the squirming he was doing. For his part, Duncan felt as if he'd been set in front of a banquet after weeks on bread and water, and he relished every taste, every touch, every mouthful.

He trailed kisses up Methos' arms, paying special attention to the sensitive spot on the inside of his elbow and the amazingly erotic place on his shoulder. He laved and kissed Methos' toes, nearly sending him into an orgasmic frenzy when he sucked one of them into his mouth and nibbled at it gently. He worshipped Methos' belly, kissing and stroking every inch of flesh. When he finally took Methos' cock into his mouth, his spouse was so delirious with pleasure that it took very little to make him explode in a screaming, toe-curling climax.

Feeling satisfied in a way he hadn't felt in weeks even though he had yet to come, Duncan rolled onto his back on the bed and settled Methos' head on his shoulder. His hand gently stroked up and down Methos' back, easing him gradually back into the real world, as he pressed kisses into the soft hair under his chin.

"In-fucking-credible," Methos murmured at last with a delicious shudder than seemed to course through his entire body.

Duncan smirked. "Another satisfied customer."

"I'll show you satisfied," Methos retorted, reaching out for Duncan's proud erection. Duncan stilled his hand, and Methos looked up at him in surprise. "Don't you want...?"

"Oh, I definitely _want_ ," Duncan said, leaning down so he could kiss Methos' lips.

"Then?"

"I _want_ to come inside you, and I want you to come with me." Duncan kissed him again, pressing his tongue inside to claim Methos' mouth before drawing away again. "And I think you need a little more recovery time these days. Not to mention food."

Interest sparked in Methos eyes. "Food?"

"Hmm-hmm. Joe sent a large thermos of his chicken soup with me. I'll bring it up here with some fresh bread I picked up in town, and cheese and fruit, and _then_ we'll finish what we started. And we'll talk."

Methos reluctantly allowed Duncan to slide out from underneath. "Talk? About what?"

"Well, for starters, making reparations to Richie. You scared the hell out of him and threw him out of his home, remember?"

Methos winced. "All right. I'll make nice with the kid."

"Good." Duncan grabbed his robe and belted it on, then headed for the stairs. He paused in the doorway. "And then we need to discuss some repairs to be made around here."

Methos gave him a innocent look. "Don't look at me. I just locked the door. _You_ were the one who had to play he-man and break it in."

Duncan looked at Methos pointedly. "Oh? What about the nightstand? Not to mention the phone and the window?"

Methos made a face at Duncan, and he mock-glared back, then headed down the stairs.

Methos waited till he was sure Duncan was gone and then reached for the phone only to realize he'd broken it - not to mention the whole nightstand. He sighed and leaned over to the other nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out his cell phone. It was still charged, and he dialed Richie's cell which switched into Richie's voice mail. Methos left a message, then hung up and called a different number.

"Dawson," a gruff voice said.

"Hey, Joe," Methos said hesitantly.

"Adam!" Joe said, sounding pleased. "Hang on a sec." Methos heard him asking someone to take over the bar for him, then some muttering as Joe settled in his private office. "Still there, buddy?"

"Yeah." Methos swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. "I, um, I never called to ask how your weekend went. Unless you don't want to talk about it," he added hastily.

Joe chuckled. "Relax, you're off the hook. They think it was some college kid getting lucky with a hack. They _did_ close that hole, though, so don't try it again."

"All right, Joe." He added, with a touch of mischief, "I've got plenty of others."

Joe snorted, but Methos could tell he was amused and not angry. "Yeah, I _thought_ that promise about never hacking in again was too good to be true."

"For you, Joe, I'd hang up my hacking tools forever."

"Right," Joe said dryly. "Who are you and what have you done with my Methos?"

Methos did his best to chuckle around the tightness in his throat. "So does this mean you've forgiven me?"

"Aw, hell, I forgave you the minute you told me why you did it. Didn't you know that?"

Methos could feel tears pricking in his eyes. "Actually, no, I didn't."

"Methos? What the - are you _crying_?"

"No," he managed to say. "It's just hormones."

"The hell you say! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Is something wrong with the babies? Where's Mac?"

"Right here," Methos said, looking up as Duncan came through the door carrying a tray. He held out the phone, and Duncan set the tray on the remaining night table. "It's Joe."

Duncan took the phone. "Joe? What are you saying to make Methos cry?"

"Not a thing, as far as I know. Are you telling me he's really crying? Methos?"

Duncan sat down on the bed and Methos immediately buried his face against Duncan's shoulder. "Yeah." He wrapped his free arm around Methos, and gently stroked up and down his back. "It's been a rough couple of weeks."

"When you told me he was acting funny, I had no idea... I'm coming down there _today_ ," Joe said grimly, and Duncan could hear him rummaging through his desk drawer, probably for a train schedule. "I can catch the 3:20 train and be in Poitiers by 5."

"Joe, it's not that bad. You really don't have to do that. I'm going to ask Julian to come out  tomorrow if he's free, to check the stitches I put in Methos' hand, and you can get a ride..."

"You had to put _stitches_ in his _hand_? What the blue blazes did he _do_?"

Duncan sighed. "Put his hand through a window."

"That's it. I am coming down there, and when I get my hands on that..."

"Joe..."

"You're not talking me out of this, Mac. Hell, I feel responsible. Here I am, telling you to listen to him when I wouldn't do it the last time I called, and I'm his god-damned _friend_!"

"It's not your fault, Joe."

"The hell you say. Look, I gotta see about that train reservation. You think Richie could pick me up at the station?"

Duncan gave in. "I'll see if I can get hold of him. If not, I'll come get you myself."  Methos' hands suddenly tightened on Duncan and he gave Methos a reassuring squeeze. "Correction. _We'll_ come get you. Call us when you get on the train, let us know definitely when you'll be in."

"Will do, pal." The phone at the other end disconnected, and Duncan closed the cell phone and set it on the bed. "Methos?" he asked gently, looking down at the head buried in his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"No," came a decidedly unsteady voice from the vicinity of his armpit. "I think those damned hormones decided to come out to play."

Duncan wrapped both arms around Methos. "Remember what you told me after Connor beat me up?  Well that goes for you, too.  You don't have to always be the tough, cynical guy around here. You're allowed to grieve for your past and your brothers. You're allowed to be scared shitless and to be upset about Joe being mad at you."

"Damn it, I'm not going to cry..."

"Go ahead," Duncan said gently. "Let go."

Methos broke down at that, and Duncan tightened his hold, gently rocking back and forth and murmuring comforting words. Finally, with a last shudder, Methos sagged against him, exhausted.

"Better now?" Duncan asked gently, and Methos nodded, his breathing still too ragged to answer. "Sounds like you gave Joe a scare."

"Sorry," Methos muttered.

Duncan kissed the top of his head. "Hey, no need to apologize. Personally, I think Joe _needs_ a scare every now and then. Keeps him from getting too complacent." He felt Methos' ragged laugh rather than heard it, and kissed his hair again.

They sat there for a while longer, content to give and receive comfort, until the growling of Methos' stomach reminded Duncan of his earlier agenda. "You feel like eating now?"

"Yeah." Methos took a shuddering breath, trying to regain a semblance of his usual calm. Duncan let him shift into a sitting position, stuffing a pillow behind his back. Methos wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and Duncan gave him an exasperated look, then fetched the box of tissues from the bathroom.

Duncan settled the tray across Methos' lap. "Hopefully it's still warm."

"Smells good."

"So do you," Duncan said, carefully sitting back down on the bed and leaning over to nuzzle the back of Methos' neck.

"Mac, if you make me spill this soup, I'm making _you_ change the sheets." His voice was cross, but there was an amused look on his face instead of the woebegone expression from a few minutes earlier, and it made Duncan grin.

Duncan settled in beside Methos, content to just be close as he watched his spouse eat. He hoped Richie had gotten his message about picking up Joe from the train station. Methos looked like he could use a short nap and some affectionate attention, and Duncan intended to give him everything he needed.

 

* * *

 

Richie ended the call to his current girl friend and saw the "message" light blinking. Two messages were waiting; he hit the button to replay the first one.

"Son." Methos' voice was wryly affectionate. "All is forgiven. Come home. Love, Your Wicked Stepmother

Richie grinned.  The old guy could be a bastard some times, and he had certainly proved that he could be scary as hell, but he had style.

He checked his other message and, hearing Duncan's request to pick up Joe at the train station at five, turned the Rover in the direction of Poitiers.

 

* * *

 

At a little after six o'clock, Richie turned into the driveway to Les Tardes. As they pulled up in front of the house, he and Joe could see Duncan and Methos sitting on the front step of the newer section of the house. They were as close as they could get without being in each other's laps, apparently laughing over some shared joke. Joe's sharp eyes saw how relaxed both of them looked, the subtle contentment good sex left behind, and he grinned. Apparently, the differences on the home front had been ironed out.

Richie parked the car and they got out. While Richie grabbed Joe's bag out of the back seat, Joe made his way across to the pair and stood looking down at them for a long moment.

"Well, don't you two make the cozy couple," he drawled.

Duncan shrugged. "I told you that you didn't have to rush down here."

"Shut-up, Mac," Joe said, although the grin on his face took away any sting from his words. He turned to Methos. "And as for you, let's see that hand."

Methos held out his right hand. "It's not a big deal, Joe. I'll heal, in a day or two."

"It'd serve you right if it took longer," Joe said gruffly. "Putting your hand through a window...you do that again and I'll give you reason to need healing, all right." Methos grinned at him, and Joe pulled him up and into a hug. "For someone so old and wise, you're sure an idiot at times."

Methos chuckled. "If you say so, Joe."

"I do, and don't you forget it."

Richie joined them, Joe's suitcase in hand. "I'll take that, Richie," said Duncan. "Joe, I expect you remember the way?"

Joe nodded, but his eyes went back and forth between Richie, who was looking hesitant about something, and Methos.

"Glad you're back, Rich," Methos said, jumping first into the silence. "I could use your help with dinner, if you don't mind."

"Um, sure," Richie said, uncertainly.

"And I thought that while we work, I'd tell you some stories about my brother Horsemen." Richie looked startled, and Methos said hastily, "Good stories. Silas had this way with animals that was amazing. And Kronos...there was this one time when he got caught in a sheik's harem, without his sword and with his pants down. Took him a century to live that one down." He paused. "But we won't talk about Caspian. There _are_ no good Caspian stories. What do you say?"

Richie grinned. "Sounds great. And I _still_ want to know what pillaging is."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Get a dictionary."

"I know the _definition_ ," Richie protested. "I'm not _that_ stupid! I just want to know what it means...meant...to _you_."

Methos flashed a wicked look over at Duncan and slung an arm over Richie's shoulder, steering him toward the kitchen. "Pillaging is a lot like plundering, except you spill more."

"Not helping," Richie said, sing-song.

"It's too hard to describe. It's something one should _experience_ instead. Tell you what, kid." Methos gestured expansively. "After dinner, we'll take a drive into town..."

"Methos!" Duncan called out, wondering if the hormones were taking another turn. "You are _not_ going to take Richie into La Roche Posay to teach him about pillaging." There was no reply from his spouse. "Methos? Did you _hear_ me? Dammit, Methos, we have to _live_ here...!"


	54. Chapter 54

When Duncan woke, the faint light of dawn was illuminating the bedroom, giving him just enough light to see Methos sleeping peacefully beside him in the big bed, and he smiled at the sight. He rolled up on one elbow and stretched out a hand to gently caress Methos' swollen abdomen. It was still a marvel to him. A miracle, despite Methos' recently voiced fears about the origins of the babies.

Stubbornly, Duncan refused to believe that things could be as bad as Methos feared. God and Fate wouldn't be so cruel to him, would they? To finally give him the children he'd wanted for so long, and then make them monsters he'd have to one day kill? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. No matter what Methos said about inherent nature, Duncan couldn't help thinking that babies were born innocent and good, a blank page to be written on. He thought about the Quickening-babies he'd heard about, about how special each one was, and knew that their children would be special, too.

Even if they contained the essence of Kronos and Silas, surely that wouldn't be _all_ bad. They had some positive attributes, right? Kronos had been a natural leader, and he was certainly persistent as hell. Silas had been...Duncan paused in thought, frowning as he realized he didn't know much about him. It was hard to form any kind of positive opinion about someone who was coming after you with an axe, after all. Methos had seemed to care deeply about him, and he had said Silas was kind to animals, so surely there was something good about the man.

Methos stirred underneath his hand, and Duncan realized belatedly that his caresses had grown more intense, waking his spouse. Methos didn't seem too perturbed, though, as a smile curved his lips. He opened his eyes which were clear and untroubled for the first time in weeks, and Duncan let the last of his worries drop away.

"Was there something you wanted, Mac?" Methos asked, his sleep-roughen voice  amused.

Duncan smiled and leaned over to kiss his lover. "You. Always."

"You've got me," Methos said with quiet intensity. "Always."

Duncan's hands gently moved over his husband's body. "I love you.  And as eager as I am to see our babies, I'm going to miss this."

Methos snorted. "You're not the one carrying them. I miss seeing my toes..."

Duncan reached down to grasp one of Methos' toes. "And mighty fine toes they are."

"...not to mention other parts of my body."

Duncan grinned and moved his hand upward, teasingly stroking Methos' cock. "This part, for instance? I can assure you it's there and in perfect working order."

Methos glared at Duncan. "Didn't you get enough last night?" he complained, but there was a smile hovering on his lips, tempting Duncan into kissing them again.

"I can never get enough of you," he murmured against Methos' mouth. Then he sat back, pulling his hand away from Methos' body. "But I can stop if you want me to."

Methos growled and grabbed Duncan's hand, putting it back on his groin. "Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to tease?"

Duncan grinned and went back to  stroking Methos' cock. "My mother taught me lots of things. Like playing nicely with my toys and always putting them back in the same condition they were in when I got them." He shifted down on the bed to get a better look at Methos' cock. "Hmm. I don't recall this being so swollen. Maybe I should do something to reduce that."

"You are such a damned - oh!" Methos gasped and tilted his head back with a groan as Duncan's mouth took the place of his hand. He arched up into the wickedly talented mouth. "God!" He groaned and then started swearing when Duncan released him after a moment.

Duncan took a moment to stuff pillows behind Methos' back so he wasn't lying flat, then grabbed the lube off the nightstand and shifted to kneel between Methos' spread legs. From this angle, he was able to take in more of his cock, and he enthusiastically worked over it with his mouth while his lubricated hand stroked the base and teased other parts of Methos' body. He loved doing this to Methos, loved the taste of his lover in his mouth and the feel of satiny skin against his tongue. He loved the needy sounds Methos made as Duncan drove his passions higher. And he loved the look on Methos' face as he got closer to the point of no return - like now.

Duncan squeezed the base of Methos' cock with his fingers, grinning as he listened to Methos' vitriolic comments about Duncan's parentage and sexual perversions. When it didn't look like Methos was going to wind down anytime soon, Duncan simply straddled Methos' hips and pressed himself down on Methos' cock.

That shut Methos up, or at least reduced him to incoherent gasps and moans. Duncan moved slowly; it had been several weeks since he'd taken Methos into his body, but he was relaxed enough to allow the penetration, and soon Methos was fully sheathed inside him.

"Duncan," Methos groaned, reaching out desperately to grasp some part of his lover. Duncan laced their fingers together and leaned forward to kiss his spouse. It wasn't easy, given the size of the belly between them, but he craved the taste of his mouth at moments like this, and with Methos half-sitting up in bed, they managed. Methos returned the kisses enthusiastically, hungrily, and was panting by the time Duncan straightened up and began to ride in earnest.

It was an unhurried coupling, unlike their first, frantic lovemaking the previous afternoon. And it was unlike their union earlier that night, when Duncan had felt driven to claim Methos, to prove his possession and drive out memories of the past. This time there was no taking or giving, but only a sharing of equals. Duncan's pace was slow, almost leisurely, and Methos did nothing to hurry either of them along. In fact, twice, when Methos was on the edge of coming, he grasped Duncan's hips and held him in place until the urgency passed. Methos' hands trailed up and down Duncan's skin, relearning the territory after two weeks of abstinence, and Duncan paused from time to time to taste Methos' mouth before retuning to his slow dance.

There came a time, of course, when neither could deny the inevitable. Duncan shifted slightly so he could increase the tempo of his glide up and down, and Methos grasped Duncan's hip with one hand while the other sought out Duncan's cock. The feel of his lover's knowing hand stroking over his hard flesh was more than Duncan could stand. He pushed down hard once, twice, and then was coming with a shudder and a groan. He was dimly aware of Methos' hand leaving his cock so he could grasp Duncan's hips with both hands, and he responded to the demanding pressure that lifted his body and slammed it back down several more times. Then Methos was shuddering beneath him and crying out his name, and that was sweeter than all the rest.

Duncan stayed where he was until Methos was finished, then leaned down to claim one more kiss before dismounting and collapsing on his back. He couldn't help grinning with satisfaction, and the snort from his bedmate told him that his smug contentment had been noted. But right at this moment, with his body pleasantly sated, he couldn't care less.

He forced himself out of bed to fetch a washcloth, cleaned them both up, and then climbed back into bed. Methos rolled over to snuggle against him, murmuring something unintelligible as he drifted back to sleep. The light streaming in from outside was growing steadily brighter, but Duncan was too content to care. He gently caressed Methos' swollen abdomen and, resting his hand there, sank back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

"Mac? You guys decent?"

Richie's voice called up from the base of the stairs, and Duncan stopped toweling his hair to glance over at Methos. They'd woken mid-morning and, after a shared shower, were dressing to go down for a belated breakfast. Methos was half-dressed, struggling to reach the side fasteners on the adjustable pants he'd pulled on and cursing clothing manufacturers under his breath. Duncan grinned.

"Define 'decent'," he called down the stairs to Richie. "You might be too young for some of the words Methos is using."

"Very funny," Richie said sarcastically. "I'm coming up, so throw on a blanket or  something.  This is too damned heavy to hold."

That sounded interesting, and Duncan tossed his towel in the hamper as he reached for a sweater to pull on. Taking pity on Methos, he went to his assistance.

"I don't understand," Methos grumbled. "I know I adjusted the damn things just last week."

Duncan flipped back one of the metal tabs holding the waistband in place, adjusted the elastic tape for a more comfortable fit, then snapped it back into place. "Shrank in the wash?" he offered innocently, adjusting the other side. Methos gave him a look that showed he was just barely resisting the temptation to smack him.

Rich paused in the bedroom doorway, a large box in his arms, and eyed the door hanging in its frame with awe. "Do I want to know why your bedroom door is busted?"

Methos looked at Duncan in amusement before looking back at Richie. "Probably not."

"O...kay." Richie looked at Methos and then away. It was obvious to Duncan that Richie was still nervous around the oldest Immortal after their encounter in the training salle. In fact, he had been keeping his distance from Duncan as well, no doubt expecting a roasting after his stupid remarks the previous day. Duncan sighed and decided he'd have to talk with Richie soon.

Richie set the carton on the floor. "This was just delivered and there's another like it downstairs. The note is from Amanda."

Duncan took the note and opened it, grinning as it read the short note. "Well, it seems Auntie Amanda's been shopping."

"What a surprise," Methos said as he pulled a tunic on over his head. "So what's in the box? It's too big for baby clothes, or for matching diamond bracelets 'borrowed' from Tiffany's."

Duncan tore open one end of the box and pulled out a round basket covered in white cloth. "What on earth...?"

"I know what that is," Richie said helpfully. "Maria's mom had one. It's a baby-bed thing."

"I believe the term is a bassinet," Methos pointed out.

Richie frowned. "I thought that was a kind of dog. You know: short, kinda pudgy, long ears."

Methos sighed. "That's a basset _hound._ "

Duncan had found the instructions and pulled them out. "You're right, Rich. 'The Ultra Light Vibes Rocking Bassinet'," he quoted from the cover. " 'A truly modern bassinet, this will gently vibrate your baby to sleep, play classical lullabies, and even let you record your voice to play back to your baby'. Sounds pretty nice, doesn't it, Methos?"

"Sounds like 'some assembly required' to me, Mac. Last time I was a parent, we just tucked the baby into bed with us. Made for a lot less expense, not to mention easier feeding."

"Right," Duncan said disbelievingly. "Not to mention what a damper that would put on sex."

Methos looked at him wickedly. "Not if you're creative." Duncan snorted.

"What I don't understand," Richie said, "is Amanda knows you've got cribs for the babies already, stored in the downstairs closet for after the delivery room stuff is moved out of the nursery. Why'd she get these?"

Duncan pulled various parts out of the box as he answered. "Methos and I were talking about having the babies up here to begin with. It'd make it easier for feedings every two hours, not to mention being safer. I'm not happy about them being downstairs, so far away from us."

"Come on, Mac," Richie said, rolling his eyes. "This place is locked up as tight as Fort Knox. Between Connor and Methos designing the security system and Amanda testing it for them, no one's gonna get in here without you knowing about it. Methos, _you_ tell him."

Methos shook his head. "In my experience, there's no such thing as being too paranoid."

"What, you think some Immortal's gonna bust in here to take baby heads? On holy ground?"

"Immortals aren't the only danger, Richie," Duncan said. "Darius proved that."

"Oh." Richie digested that idea. "You think someone else might want to get their hands on the kids? Why?"

"Well, aside from the obvious answer that Mac would do _anything_ to get the babies back if they were taken hostage, if anyone found out they're our biological children and not adopted..." He paused, unaware that one hand was now protectively resting on his abdomen.

Richie shuddered. "They'd be turned into lab rats. Yuck."

Duncan was sorting through the parts, muttering to himself. "Batteries, batteries...how come these things never include batteries? And where does this damn part go?"

"Some mysteries man was just never meant to know, Mac," Methos said, looking at his spouse with amusement. "And it might help if you actually _read_ the instructions."

Richie grinned. "Real men don't read instructions."

"They do if they're Methos," Duncan said absently, turning the part over to see if it fit into the base the other way. "He's the only person I know who actually read the Microsoft booklet enclosed with his new laptop."

"Mac, Methos reads _everything_ ," Richie pointed out. "Cereal boxes, toothpaste tubes, the tags on mattresses that tell you not to rip them off..." He ducked as Methos threw a shoe at him. "Hey! Just being honest here."

"Just because _some_ of us aren't illiterate barbarians..." Methos looked at Duncan, absorbed in fitting pieces together. "Mac, put away your new toy and come eat breakfast."

"In a minute," Duncan said and Methos rolled his eyes. Leaving Duncan to fiddle with the new contraption, Methos headed downstairs.

He found Joe in the kitchen, lingering over a cup of coffee, and he drawled, "About damn time you got your lazy butt outta bed."

Methos poured a glass of juice. "Aren't we being a little contradictory? Weren't you telling me just last night that I looked like hell and needed more sleep?"

"Well, you did," Joe pointed out. "I just didn't think you were gonna get it all in a night."

Methos grinned as he settled at the table with his juice. "That's not all I got."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Spare me the details of your love life, please."

"What? A Watcher who doesn't want to know every little detail? And here I was certain you'd hidden a camera in Harvey so you wouldn't miss anything."

"Well, if I'd known Mac was gonna take it to bed with him..."

"Watchers," he said with mock-disgust, then his expression sobered. "Speaking of which, are things really okay with you, Joe?"

Joe shrugged. "I managed to keep them from kicking me upstairs for a while, but you know it's just a matter of time..."

"Yeah," Methos said quietly, studying the contents of his glass. "You really _are_ wasted in the field, Joe, and it's not a surprise they'd want you in management."

"Yeah, well, not everyone thinks as highly of me as you do, pal. They just want me at Headquarters so they can keep an eye on me."

"What will you do if they...insist?"

Joe shrugged again, his eyes on his coffee cup. "Well, if you must know, I've been thinking about retiring. Devoting my time to my music and the club. Been thinking about opening another one, too. In fact, I've got my eye on this one town, gets a lot of upscale tourist traffic.  What with the spas, racetrack, and casinos, a blues club would probably do real well there."

A smile tugged at Methos' mouth. "Well, if you ever decide to take the plunge, let me know. I know some people who might be interested in an investment opportunity, and I think I can suggest a place that would rent you a room in return for a little childcare assistance."

"I'll keep that in mind." He hesitated. "Buddy, that day we talked on the phone...if I'd thought for a moment you didn't _know_ I'd forgiven you...I never should have hung up without telling you that."

Methos waved it off. "It's all right, Joe."

"No, it's not," Joe insisted. "I keep thinking that you wouldn't have..."

"Gone round the bend? Fallen out of my tree? Lost my marbles?"

Joe glared at him. "Would you hush and let me finish? You needed someone to talk to, and I let you down, and I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Joe," Methos said quietly. "That means a lot to me."

"Yeah, well, _you_ mean a lot to me." He looked up at Methos. "So, we okay, kid?"

"We're good." Methos gave him a lopsided grin. "You do know how ridiculous it is for you to call me 'kid', don't you?"

"Not when you do stupid things like punching out a window," Joe pointed out. "I can't wait to hear what Julian's gonna say about that stunt of yours."

Methos cocked his head. "Well, you won't have to wait long because, unless I miss my guess, he's here." He got up and headed toward the hall.

 

* * *

 

After he knew Methos was downstairs, Duncan looked over at Richie who was standing in front of the French doors, apparently staring out at the garden. He had a feeling the scenery was the farthest thing from Richie's mind.

"We need to talk," Duncan said.

Richie looked around at him, startled, then flushed and turned to look back at the doors. "Oh wow, is this how Methos cut his hand?" he said, gesturing at a square of cardboard replacing the missing pane of glass. "That must have hurt."

"Putting your hand through a pane of glass generally does.  He'll be fine, although he could have done without you contributing to the stress he was already under. But for the moment, I want to know how _you're_ doing."

Richie was aware his teacher's eyes were on him, and he knew Duncan was about to rake him over the coals.  "Gee, will you look at the time? I promised Michelle I'd meet her for lunch and..." He paused in his exodus towards the door as the sense of a newly arriving Immortal washed over him. "Were you expecting anyone?"

Duncan nodded as he stood up. "Julian and Grace. But Richie, we still need to talk - "

"I'll just check it out, make sure it's them," Richie said hastily and hurtled down the stairs before Duncan could say anything else.

Duncan sighed, resigning himself to the fact he'd have to corner Richie at a later time, and followed him downstairs.

 

* * *

 

As Methos headed for the door, there was a thumping noise on the stairs and Richie rushed through the library and out the front door. Richie popped his head back in after a moment. "It's okay, just the Doc. Hey, Mac," he said as Duncan appeared in the hallway, "since you've got enough guard dogs on hand, I'm gonna pop into town for a while, all right?" Before Duncan could say anything, Richie snatched up his helmet and keys from the hall table.

Joe looked amused. "Do I detect a reluctance on the part of Junior to hang around here?  What - a new lady in his life?"

Duncan grimaced. "Yes, but it's also an attempt to avoid me, since he knows I'm going to tear a strip off him if I ever get him alone for more than a minute."

Methos' face shadowed. "Mac, it wasn't his fault."

"No, not completely," Duncan agreed. "Part of it was my fault for mentioning the subject to him in the first place. But I told him to drop it and he didn't. He deserves a good verbal thrashing, at the very least."

"I'd think what happened yesterday was punishment enough," Methos murmured, looking away from Duncan.

"In this case, he got what he deserved, and you have nothing to feel guilty about," Duncan said firmly. "And what are _you_ grinning about?" he asked Joe, seeing his huge smile.

"You two," Joe said. "'Father MacLeod' sounding like he's about to take Junior out to the woodshed for a talking-to, and 'Mother' pleading for leniency for the boy."

Methos glared. "I am _not_ Richie's mother. Even he says I'm the Wicked Stepmother."

Joe laughed so hard that they had to leave him sitting on the front steps to recover while they greeted Julian and Grace. Duncan took Grace up to get her settled in their room while Julian towed Methos off for his checkup.

"Let's see your hand first," Julian said, closing the door to give them some privacy.

Methos settled on the exam table and held out his right hand. Julian carefully unwrapped the bandage Duncan had wrapped around it the previous day so he could examine the various cuts.

"Well, you certainly did a number on yourself, didn't you?" Julian said mildly. "Did you feel better afterwards?"

"Not really, no," Methos said with a sigh. "And if you're going to start lecturing..."

"Would it do any good if I did?" Julian asked. "You stopped paying attention to anything I said somewhere around 920 A.U.C."

"That would presuppose I _ever_ paid attention to anything you said."

Julian glanced up at him briefly, and Methos caught a flicker of hurt in his eyes before he turned to the cabinet.

Methos groaned.  "Oh, come on, Juls! That was a _joke_! You should know me well enough by now to tell when I'm serious and not."

Julian sighed. "I thought I did." He closed the cabinet and came back to Methos. "I suppose that's the folly of every student, thinking they know their teacher better than anyone else."

Methos watched as Julian began carefully removing the stitches in his hand. "You do," he said quietly. "You know you do. No one alive knows me so well, not even Mac."

"Times change."

Methos tilted his head. "Are you jealous?"

A hint of a smile quirked Julian's lips. "As if. MacLeod's more than welcome to you."

"Then what is it?"

Julian looked up, meeting his eyes. "I thought you knew that whatever it is that drove you to do this," and he held up Methos' injured hand, "you could talk to me."

"Julian...Dammit, you're almost as good at guilt-trips as Mac." He sighed. "All right. I was having difficulty dealing with Silas' and Kronos' deaths. I didn't want them anywhere near me, but I didn't want them dead, either."

"And you didn't feel you could talk to anyone about these feelings." Julian's words were a statement, not a question.

"I didn't think anyone would understand."

Julian reached out to grasp his shoulder. "My friend, how could you think that any of your friends wouldn't understand your grief? We may not _share_ it, but each of us has lost those we cared about, those we were close to, beloved enemies. Duncan, Connor, Amanda, me...we have _all_ been there." He squeezed Methos' shoulder. "I know you are accustomed to shouldering your burdens alone, but that isn't necessary. What _is_ necessary is that you _talk_ to us. All right?"

"I'll try," Methos said simply. "That's not all that's troubling me. Have you thought about why I'm having twins?"

"Two shared Quickenings, two fetuses."

"Two dead Immortals," Methos said, and placed his uninjured hand on his distended abdomen, "two new pre-Immortals."

Julian's eyes widened, then he shook his head. "No. That's impossible. Silas and Kronos are dead, Methos. They're not coming back, and certainly not as your babies."

"You don't know for sure."

"I can make a damn good guess," Julian retorted. "Think logically for a moment, Methos. You told me the Immortal who attacked your friend Reba was an amoral coward, attacking those he thought were defenseless. Well, her son was anything _but_ immoral, and certainly no coward or he wouldn't have faced down General Darius. So he was definitely _not_ reborn. The first one _I_ delivered became revered for his wisdom and purity of spirit - again, unlike the Immortal who attacked his parents."

"You know Kronos was one."

"Just because _he_ was the product of a shared Quickening doesn't mean he could cause himself to be reborn through one. Or drag Silas along for the ride," Julian said firmly.

"So _you_ say. I have just a little bit more at stake than you do."

"Methos." Julian made Methos look at him. "Trust me on this one. I've got documented evidence on every known Quickening-child, and even a couple I just _suspect_ of having been one." _Including you_ , he thought but didn't say out loud.

"Lack of evidence doesn't prove a thing."

Julian sighed. "Methos, even if these babies _were_ the dead Immortals reborn, you're worrying yourself for nothing. There's not a _single case_ of a Quickening baby being like the Immortal who died to create them. So even if somehow the sparks of life that were Kronos and Silas are in your babies, they have every chance of turning out to be _normal_ Immortals." He gave Methos a wry smile. "Well, as normal as we get."

Methos locked his eyes on Julian's. "You ready to stake your life on that?"

"Yes. And I'm ready to stake your babies' lives on it, too."

Methos drew in a deep breath. "Fair enough. I'll try not to worry then."

"You do that." Julian smiled. "Although in my experience telling a expectant parent not to worry is a little like telling a hurricane to calm down. It isn't going to happen."

There was a tap on the door and then Duncan poked his head in. "Everything all right?"

Julian smiled and gestured for Duncan and Grace to come in. "Your timing is impeccable. I just finished chastising Adam about his hand and was getting ready to do the exam." He looked at Methos. "Unless you'd prefer not to have a crowd in here."

Methos shrugged. "Nothing they haven't already seen," he pointed out, and held out his hand to Duncan. "And I'd rather have Mac here."

Duncan knew he had a smug look on his face as he took Methos' hand and settled on a chair beside the bed. A look that faded a little as Julian got a knowledgeable look and said, "Still nervous about being trapped in small rooms with only one exit, hmm?"

Methos couldn't help grinning at the look on Duncan's face. "You're giving away all my secrets, Julian," he complained. "How ever will I maintain the air of mystery that Mac finds so fascinating about me?"

"Somehow, I doubt it's your 'air of mystery' Duncan finds so fascinating," Grace said amused.

Duncan chuckled and lifted Methos' hand, kissing the back of it. "I'll never tell. It would destroy _my_ air of mystery."

Julian rolled his eyes. "Well, if all you mysterious people are through talking and will move out of the way, we can take a look at the little ones. Assuming anyone is interested."

Grace and Duncan moved out of the way and Methos lay back on the exam table, grumbling as he pulled up his over-sized shirt. "Have I ever told you how much I hate this part?"

"Constantly," Julian said dryly.

"I hope you warmed up the gel this time."

Julian rolled the portable ultrasound machine over to the table. "I could always get out the _internal_ probe instead."

"No, thanks," Methos said hastily.

"Then I'll save that pleasure for Mac."

Duncan blinked. "Now, wait a minute! I'm not pregnant!"

"Ah, but Adam said you'd be more than willing to provide research data, and we _do_ need to know more about the proto-uterus in the non-pregnant male Immortal."

Duncan glared but his spouse grinned unrepentantly. "You _did_ agree. And you know, Julian, I think you should add another research subject for additional data. I'm sure Richie would be happy to oblige."

"Well, _you_ get to tell him," Duncan said. "And don't blame me if he goes for your head."

"In the meantime, we have an exam to finish here," Julian said, spreading the gel across Methos' exposed abdomen.

Methos winced. "Damn it, that's cold!"

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Julian turned on the machine and ran the transducer over Methos' belly. He and Grace peered at the screen while Duncan sat back down at Methos' side, holding his hand and trying not to look anxious.

"Well?" he asked after several minutes spent watching the two doctors quietly conferring. "Is everything all right?"

Julian looked up with a reassuring smile. "Just recording some measurements, guys. Everything looks completely normal. From the look of them, I'd say they're right around 1 kilo each. That's a little smaller than a single would be, but normal for twins. Their heartbeats are strong and they are moving freely. Give us a minute and we'll make some pictures for you."

Methos let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. After all the stresses of the past few weeks, he'd been worried it would somehow affect the babies. He looked up at Duncan, amused by the fatuous look on his husband's face as he watched the monitor. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

"Can't help it.  They look so beautiful," Duncan said simply. "And so do you."

Methos snorted. "You're delusional, you know that, Mac?"

"Aye, and I don't wish to be cured."

Methos laughed and Julian glared. "If you don't stay still, we'll never get finished."

Methos stuck out his tongue, but the doctor only took the opportunity to stick a thermometer in his mouth. Grace cleaned the gel off his belly with a warmed cloth and pulled his shirt back down. Then she stripped off his shoes and socks, checking his pedal pressure and the swelling in his feet.

"Pulse is good, but he's got a little edema," she told Julian.

"He hasn't been feeling too well: nausea, dizziness, lack of appetite," Duncan said.

"Stress will do that to a person, and he's certainly been stressed," Julian said, checking Methos' blood pressure. "His BP is normal, so I don't think we have to worry about pre-eclampsia. Well, not yet, at any rate. I _would_ like you to keep your feet elevated as much as possible, though. That'll help with the swelling."

"Should he be on bed rest?"

"Not unless the three of you want a quick and painful death," Methos said. "I'm _fine_."

"I don't think we need to go that far," Julian said. "Grace will work with you on modifying your exercise regime, and when you have the chance, put your feet up and relax."

"I'll make sure he does," Duncan said.

"Oh, this is just great," Methos said. "Thanks a lot, Julian. You just sicced the Great Immortal Nursemaid on me."

Julian chuckled. "I'm sure you'll survive."

Grace gave Julian an admonishing look. "And I'm certain it's lunch time."

"Right," Duncan said, "and my turn for kitchen duty, too, so I'll get started on it.  Right after I get Adam settled on the couch."

Methos glared at Julian.

 

* * *

 

Richie rolled the bike up the driveway and parked it next to the cars, his eyes on the house. All the windows were dark so it seemed likely everyone was asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief. With any luck, he'd be up and out early tomorrow, putting off the talk with Duncan for another day. In his opinion, the longer his mentor had to cool off, the better.

He unlocked the door and eased inside, relocking the door and resetting the security system. As he set his helmet on the hall table, the hallway light suddenly snapped on.

"Hello, Richie."

Richie spun around, his heart in his throat. Duncan was leaning against the library doorjamb, his arms crossed, wearing a look made up of equal parts amusement and irritation.

"Jesus, Mac! You scared me to death! Warn a guy before you sneak up on him!"

Duncan studied him calmly. "Running off in a hurry, staying out all night, sneaking back into the house: one might think you had a guilty conscience."

Richie groaned. "Do we _have_ to do this now? I'm worn out."

"Yeah, I think we need to do this now. Otherwise it might be days before I see you again.   In the library, Richie, please."

Richie slumped into a chair. "Can we cut to the chase, Mac? Go ahead and yell at me, tell me what an idiot I was to endanger Methos."

"Sounds like you're doing a pretty good job of yelling at yourself," Duncan said, sitting down on the couch.

"Mac, I _know_ it was stupid, okay? It's just...he seemed stressed, and I thought I was helping him, but I guess I pushed too far."

"I know you had the best intentions in the world, Rich, but you've got to remember _all_ Immortals have sore spots, and the older an Immortal gets, the _more_ he has. You're just lucky he didn't hurt you worse."

"Tell me about it," Richie said fervently. "Hell, I thought he might actually take my head."

"Richie," Duncan said reassuringly, "He would never take your head. You're family."

"Family or not, I don't _ever_ want to see him pissed off again, even at someone else. He scared the hell outta me. And then threw me out!"

"Richie, you may not have realized it, but he did it to protect you. He didn't know if he could stop himself from hurting you again if you were still on the property."

"Yeah?" Richie said, looking relieved. "So he's not still pissed at me, then?"

"Actually, he's blaming himself," Duncan said with a sigh.

"You managed to get the old guy brooding? Is it catching or what?"

Duncan gave him a mock glare. "Thanks a lot.  I thought I was a _good_ influence on him."

Richie laughed then said, "Really, he's okay? He's been, y'know, a little unhinged lately."

"He's had a lot on his mind."

"Yeah, I got that, Mac. I'm not totally clueless. So, you two talked?"

Duncan nodded. "I won't say he's 100% all right - it'll take a while for him to resolve some of his issues - but he's doing better."

"And the thing with the Horsemen?  He wanted to talk about them last night."

He thought for a moment. "Don't bring them up, but if he wants to talk, listen."

"No problem, man." Richie cocked his head. "So, you and me, we're cool now?"

Duncan smiled. "Yes, we're fine. There's just one little thing Methos wants you to do to make amends..."

Methos was drowsing in bed, waiting for Duncan to finish whatever he was doing downstairs and come back to bed, when a resounding yell echoed through the building.

"He wants me to do _WHAT_!"

A self-satisfied and slightly evil grin spread over his face. Julian would be so pleased to have another vic...um...subject. Pondering the odds of getting Connor MacLeod on the table as well, he turned over and went back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, the household settled back into their normal routines. Julian returned to Paris with additional information for his research.  Joe planned to remain with them for another two weeks, assuring them that both his band and the club could do without him.

Once Richie got over his huff at being a "volunteer" lab rat, he and Methos returned to their easy banter. Grace was easily integrated into the daily routine, the only discomfort being that the others had to remember to refer to Methos as 'Adam' around her since she didn't know his true identity. Duncan wasn't sure how long that would last, though, as there had been some close calls.

He found plenty to occupy himself with in finishing up the living room. The furniture originally stored there had been sorted and either sold off, put into the barn storage area, or set aside to be used later. Now he and Richie were busy renovating the room and setting up a home entertainment system as a surprise for Methos. Richie had been enthusiastically behind the idea, especially since Duncan had purchased a large screen television, and had done research on which satellite system was best for their needs.

Methos, Joe, and Grace spent most of their time in the library, away from the dust and noise of the renovation. Despite Methos' earlier qualms about having a live-in doctor, he soon became comfortable as she generally let him follow his normal routine without a lot of poking or prodding. Grace was proving to be a good influence on Duncan, too, as her presence made him worry less - a plus in Methos' book.

On the first day of her residence, Grace led the way to the warm springs grotto, saying, "I'd like you to spend an hour a day in here."

Methos' eyes crinkled in amusement. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Exercising," she continued.

Methos made a face. "I already work out with Mac every day."

Grace shook her head. "Discontinue that until after the babies are born. You don't need the stress on your body, not if we want to avoid bed rest." She gestured toward the pool. "Exercising in the water gives you all the benefits of working against resistance while reducing the strain on your body. In fact, I want you to start right now so we can work out an exercise plan."

Methos gestured at his clothes. "I'm not exactly dressed for swimming."

Grace looked at him, amused. "You haven't got anything I haven't seen before, so stop arguing and get in the pool."

Methos grumbled but pulled off his clothes and tossed them on a bench. He eased into the pool of warm water, sitting on one of the natural ledges for a moment before slipping in deeper. "Any preferences on exercises?"

"Let's start with simple stretches, then move to aerobics if you feel up to it. The katas you normally do will be fine for now, although I might modify them," Grace said, settling down on the nearby bench to keep an eye on him.

Methos had progressed to basic katas when Grace realized someone else had joined them. Glancing over at the doorway, she saw Duncan, hidden in the shadows as he watched his husband work out. Quietly, she got up and moved over to stand by him.

"He's doing well," she murmured, not wanting to distract Methos. "Changing to water workouts will help. The exercise will be good for him but not stress his body."

Duncan nodded but it was apparent his focus was elsewhere, and Grace couldn't help smiling. "You haven't heard a word, have you?"

Duncan looked over at Grace and flushed. "Of course I have. It's just..."

"You like looking at him," Grace finished.

Duncan nodded. "I've always liked the way he looked, but lately I can't seem to keep my eyes off him. He's just so beautiful. There's a sort of glow..." His eyes drifted back to Methos and he shrugged. "Trite, I know, but true. I just wish I had a way to record this time. I know I'll never forget but it would be nice to have something to look at, especially when the babies get older."

"So take a couple of pictures."

Duncan shook his head. "Adam is paranoid about cameras.  Having been in the Watchers, he knows just what people can do with them. The only way we got a photographer for the wedding was he was a personal friend of mine and gave us all the negatives. Considering the danger if anyone finds out about this pregnancy, Adam's even more paranoid about being photographed now."

"What if there weren't any negatives?" Grace asked. "I've got a Polaroid camera; they come in handy for instant shots of newborns for passing around. You could use that."

Duncan considered it, glancing back at Methos, then nodded.

"Good," she said.. "If you'll keep an eye on him, I'll go get it."

Methos finished his kata and came over to the stairs, grabbing a towel as he emerged from the pool. "Where'd Grace go?"

"Just to get something," Duncan said. "Um, sweetheart?"

Methos paused in toweling himself off and frowned at Duncan. "You want something from me. You never call me pet names except when you want to talk me into doing something."

"Don't I?" Duncan asked, smiling as he wrapped his arms around Methos. "I'll have to remedy that, won't I, love?"

"Now I _know_ you're up to something," he said suspiciously. "What did Grace go to get?"

"A camera."

"Mac..."

"I know, but this is a Polaroid. No negatives." Duncan used his most persuasive .

"Maaaaac..."

"Please?" Duncan asked, giving Methos his most pleading look. "Just a few pictures?"

Methos groaned and closed his eyes. "Don't give me that look, Mac. It's so unfair."

Duncan sensed his prey was weakening and moved in for the kill. "I'll give you a full massage. _With_ the edible oil you like so much."

"Well..."

Methos was clearing wavering, and Duncan smiled at him again, assured that he would melt. "Thank you! I love you."

"You'd better be grateful, too," Methos grumbled. "Why on earth would you want photos of me looking like this?" He gestured at his belly with a grimace.

Duncan cupped Methos' face between his hands. "Because you're beautiful," he said simply, then kissed him.

A bright flash caught them both by surprise, and Methos turned to glare at Grace. She smiled, unrepentant. "I couldn't resist. You two look so sweet together."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Grace." He went back into the pool, doing his best to ignore the camera, while Grace resisted the urge to snap a photo of his retreating backside. No matter how much Duncan might appreciate it, she had a feeling it would be the last  Methos would allow her to take.

He looked back over his shoulder at Duncan. "You know, you could join me in here," he said pointedly.

Duncan glanced at Grace and the camera, then shrugged. Heaven knew Grace had seen him naked in the past, and he trusted her discretion. He hauled off his sweater, then shed his pants and stepped down into the water.

Methos had gone back to the stretching exercises and Duncan joined him. The lights inset along the walls of the room and around the pool cast a golden glow over Methos' body, and Duncan was drawn to the older Immortal like a moth to flame. He couldn't help reaching out to touch the swollen belly with his fingertips.

"How are they today?"

"Active," Methos said with a small grin. "Kicking me black and blue."

Duncan chuckled. "Guess you'll appreciate that massage, then." There was movement under his hand and he smiled. "They _are_ being active, aren't they? You know, some of the books say babies can hear things outside the womb. Do you think they recognize my voice?"

"As often as you talk to my belly, I'm sure of it," Methos said dryly.

Duncan just laughed and went to his knees so he could press his ear against Methos' abdomen. "You know, I think I can hear their heartbeats." He stayed there for a long moment, listening and feeling them move, then pressed his lips against Methos' abdomen before getting back on his feet. "Well, if we're going to eat anytime soon, I'd better start dinner. It's Joe's last night here and I picked up something special."

He gave Methos a last kiss and then waded out of the water, scooping up his clothes. Methos stayed in until after he was gone, deep in thought, and then looked over at Grace.

"Do I want to know if you got a picture of him kissing my belly?" he asked. Grace grinned in response and he sighed, then waded out of the pool. He grabbed up a towel, held out a hand for the pictures, and Grace surrendered them.

Methos silently looked through the pictures. They were a little dark due to the low lighting, but the images were clear enough to see Methos, not to mention his belly. The thought of having photographic evidence terrified him and, for a moment, he thought about tearing them to bits. But the next picture made him reconsider.

It was a picture of Duncan on his knees, his ear pressed against Methos' belly. Although Methos' face was cast in shadows, the submerged lights illuminated Duncan's features clearly and Methos was stunned. There was such a loving look on his face, a look that clearly spoke of his feelings for Methos and the babies. Methos had to clear his throat before he could speak. "These are good."

"He loves you a great deal," she said.

Methos nodded slowly. "I thought...when he tells me I'm...I thought he was trying to make me feel better. But he really does think I'm..."

"Beautiful."

Methos took a deep breath and nodded. "Amazingly enough, I think he does." He looked at Grace. "Would you take another picture for me? And then let me have it and this one?" he asked, holding up the one that had affected him. "I want to do something special for him."

"Of course," Grace said, smiling. "What did you have in mind?"

A little later, with two pictures lying on his desk, Methos logged onto his laptop and began searching the Internet for the resources he'd need to create a surprise for Duncan.

 

* * *

 

As October drew to a close and the days grew colder, the restrictions imposed by the weather on their activity began to disrupt the tranquility of life at Les Tardes. With five people living together in one house, no matter how spacious, there was bound to be friction.

Duncan found he was constantly picking up after Methos: socks and shoes discarded in any and all rooms, books left wherever the man happened to set them down, research papers set down in the most unlikely places, only to have Methos frantically search for them later. Duncan began wondering if extremely forgetfulness was a common occurrence in pregnancy.

When his collection of discarded shoes in one day reached three pairs, Duncan irately lit into his spouse. "Adam! Would you stop leaving your damn shoes all over the damn house?"

Methos was reclining on the library couch in front of the fire, his nose in a book.  He looked up with a frown. "They're not all over the house."

Duncan held up three pairs of shoes. "Yeah? I found _this_ pair in the kitchen, and _this_ pair in the laundry room, and _this_ pair on the back terrace. And there's _another_ pair on the floor beside you!"

Methos shrugged. "I get cold and put them on, then I get hot and take them off."

"And you don't think you could just put the same ones back on?"

"Put dirty socks back on? Don't be disgusting. One of the best things about modern times is you always have enough clean socks."

"Not if you don't put them in the laundry," Duncan retorted. "And would it be too much trouble to just take the goddamn shoes with you when you go upstairs?"

Methos glared at him. "Well, if I could get the bloody things up off the floor, I would! _You_ try bending over to pick up shoes when you're carrying this belly," he said irritably.

Duncan sighed dramatically, then dumped the four pairs on shoes on Methos' legs. "There. _Now_ can you take them upstairs?"

Methos glared again. "Yes, sir. Yes, oh Lord and Clan Chieftain. Do you think you can manage to help me get up first?"

Richie came through the room, obviously in a hurry. "Hey, Mac, I'm off to town for a couple hours. Don't wait up."

"Wait! Isn't it your turn to cook?"

Richie groaned. "Oh, come on, Mac! Michelle is waiting for me..."

"Then she can wait a little longer. You've gotten out of cooking the last three times, and I can't do it because I'm in the middle of laundry."

"Well, why can't Adam do it? He's not doing anything else right now."

Methos slammed his book shut. "Fine!" He dumped the shoes off his lap onto the floor and pushed himself up off the couch, pointedly ignoring Duncan's guilty offer of help. With a glare at them both, he stormed off to the kitchen.

Grace unfolded herself from her chair and closed her book. "I think I'll give Adam a hand."

"Thanks, Grace," Duncan said gratefully. After she left, he glared at Richie. "Why did you say that to Adam? You know he's feeling moody about not being able to do much around here?"

"Oh c'mon, Mac," Richie said impatiently and somewhat guiltily. "it's not like you're Mr. Perfectly Understanding either. I heard you trashing his ass about his goddamn shoes."

"I get onto _you_ for throwing your clothes around the place, too," Duncan pointed out.

"Uh, guys?" Joe said, interrupting the argument. "Would you both just lay off each other and Methos for awhile? Jesus! You'd think you both had cabin fever or something."

Both Duncan and Richie glared at Joe. Richie stomped out of the house with his helmet and keys. Duncan pointedly gathered the scattered shoes and socks and retreated upstairs. Joe sighed and went back to his book. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that he was returning to Paris the next day.

 

* * *

 

Duncan put Joe's suitcase in the back of the car, then turned to him. "It's been great having you here, and we expect you back soon."

Joe nodded. "For Thanksgiving at least. Earlier if I can make it."

Duncan turned to Methos. "You sure you're going to be all right? Richie or I can go with you..."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Mac, I'm just driving into Poitiers, dropping off Joe, picking up Julian, then dropping some work at the mediatheque. I'll have a protector each way."

"Well, all right," Duncan said reluctantly. He and Richie wanted to finish setting up the entertainment system, and having Methos out of the way for a few hours would help, but he couldn't help worrying. He kissed Methos good-bye, then watched until the car was out of sight before turning back to Richie. "Ready?"

"You kidding, man? I've been waiting for this for _days_." Richie led the way to the living room and pulled the cover off the entertainment unit with a satisfied sigh.

Grace came down the stairs from her room and stared at the cabinet bristling with electronics. "What on earth?"

"It's an entertainment center," Richie said enthusiastically. "It's totally awesome: large screen TV, satellite dish system that gets English and US programs as well as a dozen others like French, German, Spanish, even Corsican. Hey, Mac, you think M-Adam knows Corsican? Oh, and hey, there's a stereo, VCR, compact disk player, and this new gadget Mac's testing, supposed to be the next big thing.  What did you say it was, Mac?"

"DVD player." Duncan shrugged. "I don't know if it'll ever be as big as videotapes, but I'm trying it out for a friend who plans to market them when they're officially released here in January."

"Anyway, Mac put in all this so Adam will have stuff to do while on bed rest."

Grace gave Duncan a look of disbelief. "You did what?"

Duncan was surprised by her response. "You don't think it's a good idea?"

"First, why do you think he's going to be _put_ on bed rest?  And second, what makes you think he's going to want to lie in bed, watching _that_? Adam will go out of his mind within a day!"

"It won't be that bad!" Duncan protested. "He likes playing with new gadgets, and he loves watching old movies."

"There's only so much TV someone like Adam can watch a day!"

"We'll take care of him, bring him books, food, drinks. Julian even says that now it's okay for him to have an occasional beer, and Joe's sending down some of his favorites. Richie will help, won't you, Richie?"

"Sure, sure," Richie said absently, looking at the channel listings on the satellite brochure. "How many BBC channels are there? Hey, all right! Three sports channels!"

"You want to help me get the packaging cleaned up first?" Duncan asked, gesturing to the boxes. "And get the furniture moved into place?"

"Whatever," Richie said absently, searching through the pile of manuals. "How the hell do you set the time on the VCR?"

" _Now_ , Richie."

Grace left the two of them squabbling over the best placement of the furniture, Richie arguing for best TV viewing angles and Duncan wanting "conversation groups".  In the delivery room were two cases that she opened, eying the contents with a wicked smirk. Yes, it was time to bring out the big guns.

By the time she returned to the living room, the furniture was in place and Richie was settled on the couch, remote in hand, flipping through channels.

"Mac, you got _all_ the bonus channels and premium packages.  I love ya, man."

"Sorry, I'm taken," Duncan said wryly. "But you can express your true feelings by taking this trash out to the incinerator."

"Whatever, Mac," Richie said absently.

"If I can interrupt for a few minutes," Grace said, setting the cases on the coffee table. "I've got something to show you."

She opened one of the cases and Duncan peered into it curiously. "What's that?"

"An Empathy Belly," Grace said, pulling a garment out of the case and holding up what looked like an old-fashioned girdle/apron combination. "It's a pregnancy simulator."

Richie sat up, staring. "What's it for?"

"I'll show you." Grace set the garment on top of the table and pulled a large elastic band out of the case. "Lift your arms, Duncan," she instructed and, as he did, she wrapped the band around his chest and secured it in back.

"Isn't it a bit tight?" he asked, breathing shallowly against the constriction.

"It's supposed to be." She picked up the garment again. "Hold this, please." As Duncan held the garment, Grace took two lead balls out of the case and tucked them into pockets in the garment's belly. "All right, now we'll just slip this over your head and fasten it."

Duncan looked doubtful but he allowed Grace to pull the garment into place. "Is it supposed to be this heavy?"

"It weighs thirty pounds," she said, closing the Velcro fasteners in the back. "Coincidentally, that's how much weight Adam is carrying now."

Duncan frowned. "I assume you're trying to make a point."

"Me?" Grace asked with mock innocence. "I just thought you might like to know what your husband is experiencing. You know, walk in his shoes for awhile?"

Duncan looked down doubtfully, taking in the breasts he was now sporting, as well as the belly. "All right, but does it have to be so large?"

"Not any larger than Adam is right now, except for the breasts since he isn't really developing any," she pointed out. "And he still has two more months to go. I can add more weight if you want to see what that will be like."

"No thanks," he said hastily. "This is fine."

Richie watched Duncan's transformation with undisguised glee. Seeing his former teacher with false breasts and an extended belly was just too funny, and he couldn't help snickering. "Y' know, Mac, I think this is a cool look on you."

"I'm glad you think so, Richard," Grace said, turning to the other suitcase, "because I have one for you as well."

Richie held up his hands defensively. " _Oh_ , no. Thanks, but not for me, man."

She cocked her head as she studied him, and he felt uncomfortably like the time when the Mother Superior of the orphanage had called him into her office.

"What, Mr. Ryan?" _Damn, she even had the tone of voice down pat._ "Don't think you can handle it? Can Adam take something you can't?" Grace raised an eyebrow. "Or are you too insecure about your masculine image?"

Richie bristled. "Hey, I can take anything you can throw at me!"

The minute he said that, he groaned and wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Within minutes, Richie felt as if a boa constrictor was wrapped around his chest while heavy weight settled against his abdomen.

"God, how can he _breathe_ with this fucking _thing_ around his waist?" Richie complained, trying to adjust the weight better.

"Shallow breaths," Grace said briskly, adjusting the fasteners. "But not too shallow or you'll hyperventilate and pass out."

Duncan was walking around the room, trying to adjust to the change in his center of gravity. The fluid-filled belly pouch shifted slightly as he walked, making him feel awkward and uncoordinated, and something moved inside. "Grace, something feels loose inside."

Grace nodded. "The movements you're feeling are the weights, which are also designed to feel like baby elbows and feet." She picked up a weighted pouch and turned back to Richie. "This attaches to the underside of the garment, and is designed to rest right over the bladder." She attached it and stepped back. "How's that?"

" _Weird_." Richie said, making a face.

"I don't know," Duncan said, coming back over to Grace. "I think it's interesting, knowing what Adam is feeling."

Grace attached the weighted pouch to Duncan's "belly" and said, "Not so easy to move around is it?"

"I'm amazed Adam can do it at all," he said frankly.

"Yeah, yeah, Adam is a walking miracle," Richie said. "Now can we take these things off?"

"I think it would be better if you two wore those for a while longer. Say, the rest of the day."

"What?" Richie practically shrieked, and even Duncan looked appalled. "You want me to go around all day looking like this?"

"Of course not," Grace said, and both men breathed a sigh of relief. Well, as much as they could, considering the restrictive bands. Grace pulled out two dark blue maternity smocks. "You wear these over top."

"You've _got_ to be kidding," Richie said, eyeing the garment with disgust. "There is no way I'm wearing this all day, and I'm definitely not wearing _that_ disgusting thing."

"It's ugly," Duncan agreed.

"Ah, but dark colors are so slimming when you're 'as big as a house'," Grace said, giving Richie a pointed look, reminding him of what he'd said about the last set of 'maternity' clothes Duncan had bought for Methos. "And you could always borrow some clothes from your husband if these offend your fashion sense, Duncan." Both men looked embarrassed.

"I'll wear the damn shirt," Richie said between clenched teeth. "And this damn belly thing." He pulled the smock over his head, ignoring the fact he couldn't get the back to pull down and Grace had to help him. "Might not be so bad, getting to hog the couch and remote, having everyone waiting on me hand and foot. Might be kinda cool."

Richie started to sit down on the couch and found his body didn't quite bend the way it usually did, so he had to settle for an inelegant flop. Defiantly, he pushed off his shoes and stretched his legs out on the couch, reaching for the remote. Stretching shifted the weight on his belly, and Richie was suddenly aware of a pressing need.

"Um, right after I take a leak." He awkwardly pushed himself up off the couch and waddled towards the bathroom, deliberately ignoring both Grace's chuckle and Duncan's grin.

"As for you," Grace said, helping Duncan pull on the smock, "You're looking a little pale so I think complete bed rest would be a good idea."

Duncan gave her an appalled look. "You want me to spend the day lying on my back?"

"Your side, actually. Lying on your back would put pressure on your major arteries and is bad for the baby." Grace helped Duncan lie down on the couch. "But don't worry; we'll bring you books and drinks, and you've got the television, so you can't possibly be bored."

"Fine," Duncan said, refusing to be embarrassed by her words. After all, Julian had agreed about Methos needing to take it easy. He settled on the couch, letting Grace solicitously tuck a blanket over him despite feeling hot. Probably another benefit of the damned belly, he thought grumpily.

Richie waddled back in and saw Duncan on the couch. "Hey! I was there first."

"Duncan is on complete bed rest," Grace informed the younger Immortal. "I don't want him getting up except to use the bathroom.  Or maybe it'd be better to get out the bedpan and urinal," she said, looking at Duncan.

Duncan glared at Grace. "Now wait a minute! That's taking this a bit too far!"

"Is it?" she asked, tilting her head. "Richie, since you're not on bed rest, how about you make lunch. You don't mind, do you? After all, you really haven't got anything else to do."

Richie glared and stomped off, and Duncan frowned. "That really wasn't called for."

"You don't think so?" she asked, closing up the cases and setting them to the side.

"Of course not. You're saying those things on purpose; neither Richie nor I would do anything to deliberately hurt Adam."

"Ah, but sometimes the careless words we say hurt the most," she reminded him gently. Then she handed him the remote. "I'll go give Richie a hand with lunch. I have a feeling he's going to need it."

 

* * *

 

Methos and Julian entered the house and, as the doctor headed upstairs with his suitcase, Methos went into the library. He dropped his keys and research work on the desk. _Research_? he thought with a disgusted snort. _A better term would be the shit work no one else on staff wanted to do and Dr. Bruecher had decided to push off on me_. Also tucked into the folder was a letter with the information that the highly coveted Lancelot-Graal project had been given to one of Dr. Bruecher's cronies. A few thinly veiled comments left Methos in no doubt as to why he'd been passed over for the project. For a few minutes, he contemplated composing a scathing letter of resignation as well as notification that he would be filing a discrimination lawsuit. A thought he abandoned after a few wistful moments. That would be admitting defeat, and he wasn't defeated yet, not by any means.

Enough about work, he decided, and went to the kitchen to find something to drink. Grace was there, checking on a roast in the oven, and he looked at her quizzically.

"I didn't know you were taking a turn at cooking," he said, getting a bottle of water out of the fridge. "In fact, I'm sure it's Mac's turn."

Grace closed the oven door, wiping off her hands. "Duncan's a little occupied right now, and after the disaster Richie made of lunch, I thought I'd better step in."

Methos nodded. "Out of sheer self-defense. Where are they?"

"In the living room, watching television."

Methos raised an eyebrow, wondering how watching television could be construed as being too occupied to cook dinner, but the amused look on Grace's face told him she was up to something. "Grace?"

She grinned outright. "Go on. I think you'll find it amusing."

Methos walked through the library and as he approached the living room, he heard Duncan say, " _You_ dropped the damn thing! You get it!"

"And how the hell am I going to do that? I haven't figured out how to get out of this chair!"

"Well, I'm not getting down on the floor to get it! Grace threatened to send me upstairs to bed if she caught me off this couch again."

Methos paused in the doorway to take in the sight in front of him. The last few pieces of furniture had been moved into place between the fireplace and a large entertainment center. Richie was sitting in one of the oversized chairs, struggling to push himself up out of it while concealing a soccer ball under his shirt. The look of frustration and discomfort on his face made it obvious the ball was pressing down on vital organs. Meanwhile, Duncan was lying on his side on the couch, also sporting a soccer ball belly, and struggling in vain to reach the remote control for the television which was just a few inches beyond his grasp.

He grinned.  "Well, what have we here?" 

Richie looked up at the sound of his voice and glared at him. "If you laugh so help me..."

Duncan looked relieved to see him, pushing awkwardly up into a sitting position. "Methos! Thank God! Maybe _you_ can get Grace to see reason and let us take these things off."

Methos noticed that not only was Duncan sporting a large stomach, but he also seemed to have developed bigger breasts than Methos remembered from his explorations the previous night. His grin widened. "Is there something you need to tell me, Mac?"

Duncan glared. "This is _not_ funny."

"Depends on your perspective," Methos said, giving Richie a hand up from the chair. "From my point of view, this is bloody hilarious." He looked Richie up and down. "Nice outfit. Can I borrow it when you're done?"

"Ha-ha," Richie said sourly, pushing past.

"Leaving already?" Methos asked innocently. "Was it something I said?"

Richie glared at him. "If you _have_ to know, I have to piss. Okay?"

Methos grinned and turned back to Duncan who was struggling in vain to get off the couch. He crossed his arms and watched for a minute. "It works better if you just fall forward on your knees, then push up from the floor."

Duncan pointedly didn't look at Methos but did as he suggested. Once on his feet, he headed toward the door.

"You leaving, too?"

Duncan glared. "I've been stuck on that couch for hours and, since Richie's grabbed the downstairs bathroom, I'm going to have to climb the stairs to use ours. All right?"

"Sure, Mac, but as long as you're going upstairs, why don't you take your shoes with you?" Methos said, pointing at the shoes sitting by the couch. "After all, we don't want to clutter up the house, right?"

Duncan's look would have stopped an elephant stampede. He stomped back to the couch, groaned as he bent over to retrieve the shoes, and then stomped back out of the room.

Methos' laugh followed him all the way upstairs.

One he was gone, Methos eyed the remote, still on the floor, and murmured, "Amateurs." He carefully squatted and retrieved the item, turning off the television before setting the remote on the table. They had obviously been spending too much time staring at the damn thing; it was the only explanation for their bad tempers. A nice before-dinner stroll of, say, a mile, would do them a world of good.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Grace let Duncan and Richie off the hook. Both men removed the heavy garments with sighs of relief.

"I'm tellin' ya, Mac," Richie said. "I'm _never_ gonna tease Adam about stuff like not being able to touch his toes, or having to use the can all the time. In fact, I'm beginning to think he's a saint for puttin' up with all this crap."

"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far," Duncan said, gratefully removing his own suit and handing it to Grace. "He _did_ laugh at us, remember? And dragging us out on a walk was a low blow."

"I think the two of you looked pretty cute in those outfits," Julian said, not even trying to hide his grin. "Grace, that was a marvelous idea.  We should integrate it into the rest of the practice. I think Adam appreciated it, too."

Duncan looked around the room. "Speaking of Adam, where did he go?"

"Out for a short walk," Julian said, gesturing in the direction of the terrace. "Don't worry, it won't do him any harm."

Remembering the last time Methos had taken a solo walk and the mood he'd returned in, Duncan was not reassured. "I think I'll just join him," he said casually.

He found Methos a short distance from the house, leaning on the fence dividing the yard from the fields. Methos was staring at the horizon, a wistful expression on his face. He glanced at Duncan and smirked.

"I see congratulations are in order," he said, pointing at Duncan's stomach. "Boy or girl?"

"Smart ass," Duncan said, cuffing him. Methos chuckled and Duncan was pleased to see his somber expression light up. "You okay?"

Methos shrugged. "Mostly. Sometimes a wave of sadness takes me unaware, but I'm mostly coping with it."

"You don't have to cope alone," Duncan reminded him, and Methos nodded.

"I know." He shifted closer and Duncan slid his arm around Methos' waist. After a long moment of silence, Methos sighed. "They wouldn't have lasted much longer on their own, would they? They'd outlasted their time."

"Yes," Duncan said quietly. "They forgot the world changes, or couldn't cope with that. None of us can stay the same and survive. Not for long." He smiled as he caught Methos' surprised look. "It just takes some of us longer to accept that than others."

Methos didn't say anything, just leaned his head on Duncan's shoulder. Side by side, in companionable silence, they stood and watched the sun go down.


	55. Chapter 55

"Mac? Are you awake?"

"I am _now_ ," Duncan muttered sleepily, then jolted into sudden wakefulness as the urgent tone of Methos' voice sank in. He sat up, clicked on the bedside light, and looked at Methos anxiously. "Are you all right? You're not having any pains, are you?"

"I'm _fine_ , Mac."

Duncan frowned. "You woke me up at midnight to tell me you're _fine_?"

"No, I woke you to tell you I'm hungry."

"Big surprise," Duncan muttered. He rubbed his face and tried to get his brain to focus, now that his heart had been kick-started awake.

Methos' pregnancy had shifted gears again, and at 29 weeks he seemed to be constantly hungry. Julian and Grace had been puzzled by this new development, which didn't help Duncan's inclination to panic. Every time he looked around Methos seemed to be eating, although he rarely managed more than a few bites before complaining of heartburn. Methos had dropped almost 2 kilos before the doctors concluded it was a combination of a naturally fast metabolism and increased baby growth as he entered the last trimester. Combined with the pressure of the growing babies against his stomach, it made him unable to eat enough at a meal to keep him going. Julian predicted Methos would feel better once the babies dropped into position for delivery, but in the meantime, he had added protein drinks to Methos' diet. Grace had also switched him to eating mini-meals every two hours which helped, but also meant that Methos usually woke up hungry in the middle of the night.

And Duncan was the one saddled with catering duties. With less than ten weeks before Julian's planned delivery date, the doctor had limited the hours Methos spent on his feet. Most of the time Duncan was happy to pamper his spouse, but being roused to cook less than two hours after he'd crawled into bed wasn't his favorite way to lose sleep. Although lately it was the _only_ way he was losing sleep; Methos' discomfort made him glare at Duncan if he even _looked_ like he might be thinking about sex.

Duncan sighed, throwing back the covers, and reached for his robe. "What do you feel like? I could make some eggs, or some soup, or a sandwich. What sounds good to you?"

"Linguine," Methos said dreamily.

"All right." He pulled on his robe; it sagged in the front from having been stretched a little too much around Methos' expanding abdomen, but Duncan didn't have the heart to grouse at him about wearing his clothes. Particularly when Methos looked so beautifully disheveled, his eyes closed and a dreamy smile on his face. Duncan wanted to pull off the robe, climb back in bed, and make love to his husband, but he knew Methos would just growl at him. He sighed and turned towards the stairs.

"With sea urchins."

Duncan turned and stared at Methos in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"Sautéed with garlic."

"You're _not_ kidding." Duncan flung out his hands in exasperation. "And where do you expect me to find sea urchins at _this_ hour?"

"There must be some place open."

Duncan raked his hands through his hair. "Methos, this is the _country_ and it's _midnight_." Methos looked at him, his eyes pleading, and Duncan said warningly, "Don't look at me like that! Even if we were in _Paris_ , I wouldn't begin to know where to look for sea urchins at this hour."

"But Mac, the babies are doing the rumba, I can't sleep, and I'm _hungry_."

Duncan knew he was caving but he tried to put off the inevitable. "Tomorrow. I'll run into town tomorrow and see what I can find. I'll send Richie to the coast if I have to. And then I'll make this linguine with sea urchins for you for dinner."

"But I'm hungry _now_."

Duncan sighed. "I'll do what I can, but I'm not promising anything."

Methos smiled and caught his hand so he could pull him down for a kiss. "You are so good to me," he murmured against Duncan's lips.

"You're just saying that because I'm getting your damn sea urchins," Duncan grumbled, but he was gratified, nonetheless. "I'll use the phone downstairs to make some calls.  You try to get some more sleep."

Duncan heard Methos settling back down as he turned off the light and headed downstairs. He dug out the local directory and tried calling the local produce places on the off chance that someone was still there, but didn't get any answers. After a minute's thought, he called Joe.

"Mac!" Joe's voice said cheerfully. "How's it going, buddy?"

"Hey, Joe. We're doing fine but... well...this is going to sound strange, but you wouldn't happen to know where I could get sea urchins at this hour, would you?"

Joe started laughing. "Don't tell me: he is getting cravings."

"Getting?" Duncan said with a snort. "He's had them, off and on, for months, but this last week has been _impossible_. Have _you_ ever tried to anticipate what a 5000 year old man would consider 'comfort food'?"

"Can't say that I have," Joe drawled. "But you're looking for answers in the wrong place, Mac. Why don't you call Julian? He'd probably have a better idea where to find stuff like that."

"That's a good idea," Duncan admitted.

"Yeah, and why didn't _you_ think of it?" Duncan scowled but didn't say anything. "You're not still jealous, are you? Do you think the good doctor is after your husband's fine form?"

"Of course not," Duncan said defensively, then paused. "What do you mean by 'fine form'?"

Joe laughed. "Yeah, you got it bad, Mac. God help Methos if he ever looks in anyone else's direction, not that he would. If the old bastard's put up with you through all this, nothing but a lost challenge will tear him away from you."

Duncan sighed. "Give me a break, Joe. This protectiveness thing is driving me nuts, too. I just can't help it."

"Yeah, well, restrain your jealous impulses and call Julian. I've got to do my last set. Night, Mac."

Duncan disconnected and dialed Julian's private number. It rang three times and then a sleepy voice said, "Oui?"

"Julian, it's MacLeod."

"Mac? What on earth...do you know what time it is?" There was a sudden sharp intake of breath, and then he demanded, "Have the contractions started? Where's Grace? I can be there - "

"Julian, relax," Duncan said. "Methos hasn't gone into labor. He's fine."

"Thank God!" Julian said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Then - not that I don't enjoy talking to you, MacLeod, but why are you calling me at this time of night if Methos is all right?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where I could get sea urchins at this hour, would you?"

" _ **What**_?" Duncan winced and held the phone away from his ear. "You called me at _one_ _o'clock_ in the _morning_ to ask me where to get _sea urchins_? Are you _insane_ , MacLeod?"

"Joe suggested it," Duncan protested.

"And just why would Joe Dawson want sea urchins at one in the morning?"

"Actually, it's Methos who wants the sea urchins. On linguine. Sautéed with garlic."

Duncan heard Julian snicker on the other end of the phone. "That would be linguine ai ricci di mare. It was one of his favorites in Rome."

"I wish you'd remembered that," Duncan said tartly, "because I wouldn't be trying to find sea urchins at one in the morning if I'd known he was fond of them."

"Wouldn't have done you any good," Julian pointed out. "You can't stock them.  They have to be fresh."

"I wouldn't know. I've never touched the revolting things. So, where do I find some at this hour?"

"Don't have a clue," Julian said cheerfully. "I can't stand them either. I haven't eaten a sea urchin in, oh, a couple hundred years, I imagine."

"Lot of help _you_ are," Duncan said, disgusted.

"Tell you who might know, though," Julian said. "Constantine. He's very big into revisiting his roots these days."

"Thanks," Duncan said gratefully. "Oh, and if you _should_ remember any of Methos' old favorites, would you give me a head's up?"

"Of course," Julian said. "And just be thankful you're getting off this easy. There's lots of worse things he could have asked for."

"Worse?" he asked. "Julian - _worse_?"

Julian laughed, sounding disgustingly amused about the whole thing, and Duncan dropped his head back on the couch and groaned. Then he went to the desk and pulled out his phone book, looking up the most recent listing he had for Marcus Constantine. He dialed and winced at the snarl on the other end.

"Hello, Marcus. It's Duncan MacLeod."

"MacLeod." Constantine repeated his name,  bemused. "I thought you'd left Paris."

"I'm not _in_ Paris. Marcus, I need a favor."

"Oh, no," Marcus said firmly. "Whatever trouble that little thief friend of yours has gotten into, I want no part of it. Not after last time."

"Oh, come on, Marcus, it wasn't that bad!"

"Not that bad! I had Interpol in my museum for _days_ , checking the provenance of every piece we've got."

"Look on the bright side.  You _did_ end up with a previously undiscovered masterpiece. And actually, I'm not calling about Amanda."

"Then why _are_ you calling at the ungodly hour of - one-thirty! Dammit, MacLeod - it's one-thirty in the morning!"

"Yes, and I'm sorry to bother you, but it's very important that I get my hands on sea urchins, as soon as possible."

There was silence on the other end.

"Marcus? Are you still there?"

"What in the _hell_ do you want with _sea urchins_ at _one-thirty in the morning_?"

"Actually, I don't want them. Adam does."

"Adam? Wants sea urchins in the middle of the night? What the hell _for_? What is he, pregnant or something?"

Duncan managed a weak laugh. "No, he's just feeling down lately. Lost an old friend and he's feeling very melancholic. And, well, he wants comfort food. From his mortal years." He prayed that Constantine would accept that since, as far as the Roman Immortal knew, Adam was only slightly older than he was.

"You are both insane, did you know that?" Marcus demanded, then relented. "Try Gina. She had a party at her place a while back and her caterer served deviled eggs in sea urchin shells."

"Thanks," Duncan began, but Constantine had hung up on him. Duncan sighed and, reluctantly, dialed another number.

"Duncan!" Gina's voice said warmly on the phone. "I am so glad you called.  It's been such a long time. How are you and Adam doing? Still enjoying your honeymoon, yes? And your little place in the country? I told Robert we just have to come visit you after the first of the year."

He's fine, Gina. I didn't wake you, did I?"

Gina laughed, her voice warm with amusement. "Don't be silly, Duncan! It's only one-thirty - why would I be asleep? As a matter of fact, we had a few guests over for dinner and were just sitting down for coffee and cognac. Did you want to speak with Robert?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." He thought frantically, trying to come up with an idea that would make sense to Gina. "It's our six-month anniversary tomorrow, and I wanted to do something special for Adam."

"Six months," Gina sounded puzzled. "Duncan, you haven't been married six months. That won't be till mid-December."

Duncan thought quickly. "Not _that_ anniversary."

"Oh, _Duncan_! How romantic, celebrating the anniversary of the first time you made love. Robert did that, too," she said, her voice going dreamy. "He took me to a little chateaux in the mountains, and we - "

"Yes, I was certain _you'd_ understand," Duncan said hastily. "And, of course, I want to make it special for Adam: flowers, gifts, breakfast in bed...Only I just learned that his absolute favorite breakfast includes sea urchins, _des oursins_. And I haven't a clue where to get them at this hour. Marcus said that _you'd_ know if anyone did, and I'd be grateful if you could help me out."

Gina laughed, a throaty sound. "Of course you would, and so would Adam, I expect."

There were layers of meaning there and Duncan frowned. "I don't understand."

Gina laughed again. "Sea urchin roe are supposed to be aphrodisiacs. Did you not know?"

"I had no idea," Duncan said dryly.

"I expect Adam knows, though. I had no idea he was such a naughty boy," Gina teased.

"You'd be surprised," Duncan murmured.

"Hold on a moment, Duncan, and let me talk with my caterer."

Duncan waited patiently for a few minutes, and then Gina came back on the line. "You're in luck, Duncan. Henri says they received a fresh shipment just this evening, for a party tomorrow. He's agreed to let me have a dozen for you. Will that do?"

"That'll be perfect. Bless you, Gina. Now, how do we get it here?"

"Oh, nothing could be easier. Henri's people are packaging them right now, and they'll take them to the airport where Robert will have our helicopter standing by. Robert does business with one of the cosmetic companies in La Roche Posay, and they'll let us use their landing pad." There was a murmur of voices, and then she said, "The helicopter will be there in an hour. Is that all right, Duncan?"

"That's wonderful, Gina," Duncan said, scribbling down the address and thanking God for Robert's love of conspicuous consumption. "I owe you for this."

"As if Robert and I wouldn't do anything to help our dearest friend. You can tell me all about it when we come visit after Christmas, yes?"

"I'd be delighted."

Duncan hung up the phone and blew out a relieved sigh. Now all he had to do was get the sea urchins picked up.

He pounded on Richie's door and, after a few minutes and some swearing from inside, the door opened. "Mac?" Richie asked sleepily. "What's up?"

"Sea urchins."

Richie blinked at him. "Huh?"

"A dozen sea urchins are on their way to town. I need you to pick them up at this address and _carefully_ bring them back here." He shoved the piece of paper into Richie's hand.

Richie groaned. "Aw, come on, Mac! It's two in the morning!"

"And Methos wants sea urchins. You can either go _get_ them, or you can sit with him and explain why he isn't _eating_ the damn things."

"I'm going, I'm going." Richie grabbed his discarded jeans and pulled them on, then sat on the bed to put on his shoes. "You know, I thought pregnant people were supposed to get all soft and warm and fuzzy-feeling," he complained.

"You're expecting _Methos_ to turn maternal?" Duncan asked, amused. "Don't hold your breath."

"Okay, not maternal, but a little softening around the edges wouldn't hurt, would it?"

Duncan grinned. "I'm fond of his edges."

Richie rolled his eyes,  grabbed his jacket and wallet, heading for the stairs. "TMI, Mac."

"Be careful with that package," Duncan cautioned as Richie zipped the address and his wallet into his jacket pocket. "You don't know how much trouble I went through to get them."

Richie looked at him curiously. "Is it worth it, Mac? I'm not talking about the sex but, you know, the whole thing. Putting up with his moods and stuff. Is it worth it?"

Duncan thought of Methos, upstairs in his bed, and warmth curled in his belly. He smiled. "Oh, yes," he said softly. "It's definitely worth it."

Richie was quiet for a moment, then gave him a half-smile. "Maybe I'll find that one day."

"You never know. Now, drive carefully."

Richie nodded and headed out. Duncan locked the door after him and went into the kitchen to set out the things he'd need to make Methos' snack. Then he climbed up to their bedroom to let Methos know.

Methos must have been just dozing or else he felt the bed move when Duncan sat down on it because he rolled over and smiled sleepily.

"Mmm, you're awake," he murmured.

"So are you," Duncan said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry." Methos yawned and reached out to pull Duncan down to him for a slow, sleepy kiss. "Know what I feel like?"

Duncan grinned. "Sea urchins?"

"Don't be silly. Who eats sea urchins at this time of year? No, what I'd really like is..."

Duncan sighed and reached for the phone.

 


	56. Chapter 56

Amanda drove her rental car up the driveway and turned into the parking area. She had just opened the trunk when Richie came running out of the house.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I expected you an hour ago. Mac and Methos are due back any second!"

Amanda glared at him. "Do you have any idea what the roads between Paris and this place are like? You're lucky I made it at all."

"The cake?" Richie asked impatiently.

"Back seat of the car."

Richie opened the back door and carefully lifted out a large cake box. He resisted the urge to peak under the lid - Methos and Duncan really were due back any minute - as he carried it off to the kitchen.

"Hey!" Amanda called after him. "I could use some help with these packages, too!"

Richie ignored her, knowing where his priorities lay. If they saw the packages, they'd just think Amanda had been shopping. But if they saw the cake, the jig would be up.  And he knew who would get blamed for spoiling the surprise.

He carried the cake into the walk-in pantry and hid it at the back of a low shelf he'd emptied earlier. Then he hurried back outside to give Amanda a hand.

"Geez," he said, looking over the heap of packages her car had disgorged. "You think maybe you bought enough stuff? There's enough packages here for a dozen kids."

"You can _never_ have enough," she said. "And I had such a wonderful time shopping. Did you know they have the cutest little clothes for babies? It almost made me want one of my own."

"You?" Richie hooted.

"Hey, modern babies have all kinds of clever things," Amanda said defensively. "But then I thought about dirty diapers and crying and the way they spit up on your favorite dress..."

"Yeah.  They're not clothes you can take back if you don't like them," Richie said, grinning.

"Exactly. Being Auntie Amanda is _so_ much better. I get to spoil the little darlings and then give them back to their parents." They laughed. "Where are you stashing the loot?"

"Delivery room," Richie said, leading the way. "Grace is the only one who uses it. Methos gets creeped out when he has to go in there alone. Did you know he has a thing about small, enclosed places?"

"He's got his reasons," Amanda said cryptically. "And no, I'm not telling you. I _heard_ what happened with the last secret you learned."

"Spoil-sport." He opened the door to the delivery room and gestured toward a stack of gaily-wrapped packages and two suspiciously large lumps under blankets. "Put 'em over there with the others and I'll go grab the rest."

By the time he returned, Amanda had finished snooping through the gifts. "When do the others arrive?" she asked.

"Connor and his family get in tomorrow. Joe's driving down tonight. He's gonna drag Mac and Methos off somewhere while we set up."

"Are you _sure_ about this?" Amanda asked as they went out to get her suitcases. "I mean 'surprise party' and 'Methos' don't seem to fit together in the same sentence."

"It'll rock," Richie said reassuringly. "First of all, it's just family. Second, Joe said Methos was really jazzed by the surprise bachelor party. Third, Mac missed out on that one so Joe and me figured we owed him one."

"All right, but if Methos pulls his sword, I'm blaming it all on you."

At that moment, the sense of Immortal presence made both of them tense and look around. Amanda relaxed as she saw the two men walking up the road, Duncan's arm around Methos. The Scot smiled when he saw her.

"Amanda!" he said, crossing the drive to enfold her in a warm embrace. "Why didn't you let us know you were coming?"

She smiled teasingly at him. "Does that mean I'm not welcome?"

"Of course you're welcome," Duncan said, tweaking her nose and then slinging an arm around her shoulders to guide her into the house. "I've been trying to reach you for a week, but no one seemed to know where you were. You might have to fight Richie for a drumstick, though."

Amanda gave Richie a puzzled look and he explained, "Mac's doing a full Thanksgiving dinner: turkey, gravy, dressing, the works."

"I didn't know you celebrated," she said to Duncan.

He shrugged. "I haven't, for the most part. Tessa started celebrating after Richie came to us, but I haven't since... anyway, Richie and Joe convinced me we should do something this year."

"Sounds wonderful," Amanda said.

"By the way, where's Nick?"

Amanda made a face. "Something came up, but we're planning to meet up in Paris this weekend. I'm depending on you to keep me out of trouble till then."

"You gotta be kidding," Richie muttered.

Amanda gave him a sideways glare. "So I hope you have room for one more."

"Don't worry. Mac bought enough to feed a small army," Methos said dryly.

"Between John and Rich, I _need_ enough to feed an army," Duncan pointed out.

"Connor's coming, too?" Amanda asked innocently.

"And Joe's driving down this evening. Julian's on his way; Grace went to meet him at the train station in Poitiers," Duncan said, hanging up Amanda's coat and then helping Methos out of his. "You _do_ know Grace is staying with us till Methos delivers?"

"Mmm," Amanda said, not entirely sure she liked the idea of another former lover of Duncan's being underfoot. Even though she had interests elsewhere and Duncan was now clearly off-limits, she had relished being the only "ex" in Duncan's close circle of family. Then she caught her first good look at Methos in three months and her eyes widened. "Methos! You're - you look - "

"If she says enormous, I'm going to kill her," Methos said to Duncan. "Just so you know."

Duncan grinned. "Just clean up the mess and don't do anything permanent."

"You spoil all my fun."

" - beautiful," Amanda finished, ignoring them. She reached out a hesitant hand towards his belly. "Is it all right if I...?"

Methos sighed dramatically. "Go ahead. Everybody else does."

Amanda touched his abdomen with the tips of her fingers, as if he were a priceless piece of crystal. "My God," she breathed. "The last time I saw you, this was just a little bulge, but now, look at you!" There was movement under her fingers and she snatched back her hand, startled. "What was that?"

Duncan grinned. "One of them said hello."

Awe flooded Amanda's face, and she reached out her hand again, touching the same place. "What is that, a foot?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Methos said. "I think they both have a Destiny: soccer players."

"This is just so incredible!" Amanda said, pressing against the lump and feeling it push back. "Duncan, how do you keep your hands off? If I were you, I'd be all over him all the time."

Richie snickered, and Amanda hit him with her other hand. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, Amanda, we all know what you mean," Duncan said, amused.

"Oh, and feel this! Your belly button is sticking out - that's so cute!"

Methos rolled his eyes and Richie said, grinning, "Is it like that thingies on a turkey - when it pops out, you know they're done?"

"Don't even joke about it," Duncan said, pretending to clutch his heart. "Julian wants them to stay in there for at least another six weeks."

"That's because Julian's not carrying them," Methos said grumpily.

Duncan slid a supporting arm around him. "Richie, why don't you help Amanda take her bags upstairs. Amanda, Methos and I were just going to change into bathing suits and head to the springhouse. Want to join us?"

"You don't have to ask me twice. I've been dreaming about that spring of yours for the last two hours."

 

* * *

 

They were all settled in the spring when the wash of Immortal presence warned them that Julian and Grace were there. A few minutes later, Julian stuck his head in and smiled.

"I thought I'd find you lazy louts out here," he teased. "You know, some of us had to put in an honest day's work."

"More fool you," Methos said lazily. "I happen to know you've got enough stashed away to retire for a century or so."

"Shhh!" Julian said, in a loud whisper. "I want Grace to marry me for my charming personality, not my money."

Richie snorted. "You gotta better chance banking on the dough."

Duncan gave Julian an interested look. "Does this mean you two are taking the plunge?"

"Looks that way," Grace said, smiling at Julian.

"Congratulations," Duncan said, grinning at them both. "Have you set a date?"

"Still discussing that," Julian said, then glanced over at Methos. His eyes had narrowed and Julian sighed internally.

"Shall we head back to the house?" Methos asked, standing up and making his way awkwardly up the steps from the pool. "I suppose you'll want to give me the once-over." Julian reached out to give him a hand, aware of the frantic head shakes from Amanda and Richie.

"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary right now," Julian said as he handed Methos a towel. "There's plenty of time for me to probe and poke at you before I head back to Paris."

Methos paused in drying his hair and looked at him suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

"Me?" Julian said, giving Methos his most innocent look. "I'm not up to anything." Methos' eyes narrowed again and Julian said hastily, "What I _was_ hoping is that we could talk."

"All right," Methos said slowly, wrapping the new robe Duncan had bought for him around his body. "I need something to drink, and Joe just sent me a case of Young's Ale. They're in the pantry; you want one?"

Again, Richie and Amanda made frantic motions and Julian bit his lip to keep from laughing. "No! I mean, I'd love one, but you sit down on the couch and I'll bring one to you. And I mean _one_."

Methos made a face at him. "Don't worry.  Mac's counting every ounce of alcohol I drink."

They headed toward the house, and Duncan turned to look at Amanda and Richie suspiciously. "What are you two up to?"

"Us?" Amanda asked, widening her eyes with complete innocence.

"Yes, you. I saw all that gesturing you were doing. Why don't you want Methos to go in the pantry? And don't give me that look. You know it doesn't work on me."

"It's _nothing_ , Mac," Richie said hastily. "Maurice sent a pie to go with our Thanksgiving dinner and we don't want Adam to find it. You know how he is lately."

Duncan's brow was still furrowed with suspicion, and Amanda decided to change the subject. "Speaking of which, what is this I heard about you trying to find sea urchins in the middle of the night last week?"

Duncan made a face. "Adam got a craving for them. Do you know how hard it is to find sea urchins in November, at one o'clock in the morning?"

Amanda laughed and Richie snorted. "It wasn't funny. _I_ had to pick them up!"

Grace couldn't help grinning. "And the best part was that by the time they got here, Adam wasn't craving them anymore."

Duncan sighed. "You didn't tell me that all I had to do was wait thirty minutes or so for his craving to change, and there's _nothing_ in the books about that."

"Mac, by now you should be able to write your own book," Richie said, grinning.

" 'The Pregnant Immortal Handbook or How to Make it Through Nine Months without Beheading Your Pregnant Immortal Spouse' by Duncan MacLeod," Amanda said. "Sounds catchy, doesn't it?"

"Thanks a lot," Duncan said sarcastically. "I imagine there'll be a great need for _that_ one."

"Seriously, though," Grace said to him, "you should consider putting some notes together, for Julian's files. It could benefit someone else in the future."

"Did you at least use the sea urchins?" Amanda asked. "I'd hate to think of the benefits going to waste."

"What benefits?" Richie asked.

"Sea urchin roe are said to be an aphrodisiac," Amanda said.

"Yeah?" Richie looked over at Duncan and grinned, then turned back to Amanda and confided, "Mac made a pasta dish for Adam the next night, just a private little dinner in their room, and we didn't see them for most of the next day. Guess it worked, huh?"

"Richie!" Duncan said indignantly.

Grace grinned. "He's right, though, and when we _did_ see you two, neither of you could stop smiling." Duncan flushed as everyone laughed. "Better make the most of it while you can, before the babies get here."

"Must be a challenge," Amanda said. "Given Adam's new dimensions, there can't be many comfortable positions...although I suppose on your sides, or maybe with Adam on top..."

"Ew!" Richie said, wrinkling his face. "That's a place I don't wanna _think_ about going."

"Well, _I_ want to know," Amanda protested.

"If you think I'm going to tell you how we make love, you are mistaken," Duncan retorted.

Amanda rolled her eyes but decided she'd tried to worm the details out of Duncan later or, failing that, Methos. Grace diplomatically changed the subject.

 

* * *

 

Julian and Methos walked toward the house in silence and he looked over at Methos. "What, no congratulations?"

Methos frowned slightly. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's nothing new, Methos. I've been married before."

"Never to one of us."

"Things change. _You_ did it yourself, for the first time as well, I might add."

Methos laid a hand on his belly. "Hardly for the same reason, unless you've shared a Quickening you've forgotten to tell me about."

"Not likely to happen, given that both Grace and I prefer to save lives rather than take them." They entered the house and he looked searchingly at Methos. "You didn't marry Mac just because of the babies."

"No, but I doubt he would have asked me if the babies hadn't been a factor."

"Mac loves you," Julian protested.

Methos smiled at him reassuringly. "I know that, Juls. And I love him." He awkwardly settled on the couch and swung up his legs. "And we might have eventually gotten together on our own. Some day. This," he rubbed his abdomen, "accelerated the situation."

Julian frowned but just said, "Beer?"

"There's a handful of the good stuff in the fridge, plus that crap Richie drinks. If you don't see what you like, there's more in the walk-in. Joe sent a care package of my favorites."

Julian nodded and got up, returning with a beer in each hand. He gave one to Methos and settled across from him. "You haven't said what you think about my engagement."

Methos tilted his head, studying his former student. "As you just pointed out, it's _your_ engagement."

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't like your approval."

Methos turned his attention to his bottle, picking at the label. "I know how you felt about Livia. In two thousand years, you haven't been able to love anyone as much as you loved her. I just..." Methos paused, then went on. "You and Grace both deserve more than just 'settling' for each other, especially since this marriage has the potential to be eternal."

"We're not settling. We're good together. We enjoy the same things, have similar dreams and goals. We love each other and, what's more important, respect each other."

"Julian..."

"Let me finish. No, it's not a grand passion for either of us, not like you and Duncan. But neither of us wants that. Grace had a bad experience with an obsessed lover and doesn't want anything that possessive again, and she understands how I feel about Livia. We care for and about each other, and we're comfortable together. We're _happy_ , Methos." He studied his teacher's bent head for a moment and said, "I'd like for you to be happy for us as well."

Methos lifted his head and met Julian's eyes. "Of course I'm happy for you. I hope the two of you have many, many years together."

"Thank you," Julian said. "That means a lot to me."

"So, picked out a date yet?"

"Nothing definite. Sometime in early spring. After this is over and you and the babies are doing fine. It'll be a small wedding, just our closest friends. I'd like you to be my best man."

"I'd be honored," Methos said, dipping his head graciously. "If you need a place for the ceremony or reception, consider Les Tardes at your disposal"

"Thanks."

After a moment's pause to drink his beer, Methos said, "Does Grace know who I am?"

"Not from me," Julian said. "Why? You think she's guessed?"

"I think she knows I'm not as young as she first thought.  If she hasn't guessed already, she's bound to figure it out over the next few months. Is it safe to tell her?"

"Safer than telling Richie or Amanda."

"You have a point," Methos said ruefully. "All right. I'll tell her soon."

 

* * *

 

Joe arrived that evening in time to join them for dessert and coffee in the living room. He turned down Duncan's offer to make him some dinner and settled in one of the armchairs with a cup of coffee as he looked around the room.

"I see you finally finished the room," he said, taking in the entertainment center and furnishings. "I like it."

"So does Richie," Methos said dryly. "And I like getting my library back."

"Yeah, quite a few changes around here," Joe said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at first Duncan and then Richie. "I heard you two got to participate in a little experiment. I wish I could have seen you guys in those belly things."

Duncan turned his head to glare at Methos. "You told Joe?"

Methos looked at him, mischief in his eyes. "Hey, he's your Watcher. I thought he should know about this, in the interest of keeping your Chronicle up-to-date."

Richie groaned and covered his face with a pillow. "Oh, man! That went in our Chronicles?"

"Adam's pulling your leg," Duncan said. "Aren't you, Adam?" Methos just looked at him and grinned. "Adam?" He looked over at Joe, who was grinning widely now. "Joe, you didn't?"

"Well, Mac, knowing how much you like _honesty_..." Joe chuckled as Duncan glared. "Of course not but it would've made a helluva entry."

"Speaking of interesting new entries," Methos said, looking pointedly at Julian. "Julian and Grace have a bit of news."

"Yeah?" Joe said, turning to look at the pair. "You two tying the knot?" Julian took her hand in his as Grace nodded. "Well, that _is_ good news! Congratulations! When's the big day?"

"In the spring," Julian said, "once we know Adam and the babies are okay. It'll be a small wedding, just close friends and family."

"If you need a place to hold the ceremony, we'd be more than happy to host it here," Duncan offered.

"That would be wonderful," Grace said, "and I hope you'll give me away, Duncan."

Duncan nodded. "Of course."

"I think this calls for a celebratory toast," Amanda said, entering the room with a tray laden with a bottle of champagne and glasses. Duncan raised an eyebrow at her; he'd wondered where she'd disappeared to and he was a little surprised at her reaction to the news. In fact, she'd been acting a bit strange all day, and he wondered what she was up to. Amanda just smiled sweetly at him and handed him the bottle to open.

Duncan popped the cork and filled the glasses, and the new couple was toasted with much merriment. Amanda and Richie teased Julian about giving up the comforts of his bachelor life, and Duncan watched in amusement. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Methos saying something quietly to Grace. She nodded, looking at him curiously, and the two of them slipped out of the room.

Duncan frowned, then set down his glass and followed them quietly. He was surprised again when he realized they'd gone to the library instead of the delivery room. He hesitated by the doorway, torn between politeness and worry.

"...I'm not exactly who you think I am," Methos was saying. "Not Adam Pierson, and not Dr. Charles Patterson."

"That was obvious," Grace's voice said. "Adam Pierson is supposed to be Julian's student, but Julian said he never takes any. Yet your relationship is clearly pedagogical, so you must be Julian's teacher."

"I was."

Duncan peered cautiously around the corner, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. He knew that if Methos wanted him here for this conversation he would have invited him. But he also knew of Methos' reluctance to reveal his true identity to anyone, and Duncan couldn't just walk away. Methos was standing in front of the fireplace, tension in every line of his body, his knuckles white as he gripped the mantle.

"Which makes you at least two thousand, and the oldest Immortal here." Grace smiled. "No wonder Richie calls you 'old man'."

"Not in my hearing," Methos retorted.

"Marcus Constantine seems to know you well. Was he your teacher?"

Methos shook his head. "We're just old friends. I don't remember my teacher, if I had one in the traditional sense. If I did, he or she died thousands of years before Marcus was  born."

Grace blinked. "Thousands? But - that would make you..." He nodded gravely and her eyes widened. "No. You can't be. Methos was killed last year. We all heard the story."

Methos shook his head. "Exaggerated greatly, I fear, but convenient. Makes my head feel a hell of a lot safer."

Grace stared at him, stunned confusion on her face. Methos met her eyes, standing quietly as he waited for her to accept this news. Her eyes widened again. "It's true," she whispered. "You _are_ Methos."

Methos nodded gravely and Duncan could see his posture stiffening. This was the telling moment, he knew, when Methos would discover if the lure of so much age and power would be stronger than friendship. He tensed.

"Oh. My. God," Grace breathed, pressing her hands against her flushed cheeks. "I can't believe it! The oldest Immortal, and last week I threatened to use the rectal thermometer if you didn't behave!"

Methos threw back his head and laughed, and Duncan could almost see the relief flooding through his body. He felt a little dizzy himself and didn't want to think about what would have happened if Grace had reacted otherwise.

"Don't worry," Methos said, amused. "Julian threatens me with much worse."

"But..." Grace was clearly flustered, not knowing how to act with the Oldest standing there in front of her.

"Grace," Methos said, taking her hands in his. "It's still _me_. I haven't changed, just because you know who I really am."

"Yeah," Duncan said, entering the room. "He's still the irritatingly lovable bastard he's always been. Are you okay, Grace?"

Grace smiled tremulously and squeezed Methos' hands. "I...well, I'm overwhelmed by the trust you're placing in me, and I promise it's not misplaced. I'd never tell another soul." She looked at Duncan. "How long have you known?"

Duncan smiled and slipped an arm around Methos. "Since the day we first met. And I was just as shocked to find out this character was Methos as you are."

"Do the others know?"

"Julian does, of course. All the others here know, and Connor. But Alexandra and John don't so please call me Adam while they're here."

"Of course." Grace drew in a deep breath and stood up. "Well, I'm feeling a bit shell-shocked. I think I'll call it a night."

Methos nodded and was a bit startled when she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you for telling me," she said softly, then slipped out of the room.

Methos let out a relieved sigh. "That went well."

Duncan nodded. "I'm glad you told her. I nearly slipped and called you 'Methos' the other day. I can't imagine getting through the delivery and still remembering to call you 'Adam'." He wrapped his arms around Methos and kissed him. "How are _you_ doing?"

"I'm all right," Methos said. "It's just a little...unnerving to let another person know. Three years ago, the only people who knew who I really was could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and they were scattered about the world, at nice, safe distances. Today, there are eight people who know me and it's a bit much."

"Makes you feel like running and hiding?" Duncan asked, smoothing back Methos' hair.

"Sometimes," Methos admitted. He looked at Duncan and managed a smile. "But I promise I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, and never without you."

"I'm glad," Duncan said softly, and he kissed Methos again. A thumping against his belly made him grin, and he placed his hand against Methos' abdomen. "I think they're happy about that, too."

"Maybe _we_ should do a bit of celebrating ourselves," Methos suggested and raised an eyebrow.

Duncan's grin widened, and he took Methos' hand to lead him upstairs.

 

* * *

 

"Methos!" Joe shouted up the stairs the next day shortly before noon, "Would you get your lazy ass in gear? I'd like to take a look at those properties _this_ year."

"Hold your bloody horses," Methos said, as he slowly made his way down the stairs. "Not all of us can get dressed in five minutes."

"Yeah, I think I know that," Joe said ironically, gesturing at his legs. Methos made a rude gesture with two fingers, and Joe couldn't help grinning even as he said, "You think you _might_ be ready now?"

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Methos grumbled, following Joe to the front door where Duncan was waiting with his coat. "I just don't understand why you need _us_ to go along. You know a hell of a lot more than we do about setting up a club."

" 'Course I do, but I'd like Mac's input: he's got a good head for business. And you, well, you can smell trouble a mile away, so if there's anything iffy about the locations or the deals, I'm counting on you to find it, buddy."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Flattery will get you absolutely nothing, Joe. Not even a little peek at my journals."

"Can't blame a man for trying." Duncan and Methos went out the door while Joe paused to look back at Richie, lounging with apparent casualness on the library sofa. Joe grinned and gave Richie the thumbs up, then followed his friends out the door.

 

* * *

Three hours later, Duncan drove back up the driveway, listening as the other two argued about the two places they'd seen. He saw that another rental car was parked next to Amanda's and was pleased that Connor had arrived safely. Everyone in his extended Clan would be there for Thanksgiving dinner the next day.

He parked the car and went around to open Methos' door and give him a hand out since Methos' increasing girth made it awkward for him to get up and down, among other things. Having had first hand experience via the empathy belly, Duncan was completely sympathetic and made it a point to be available to help whenever possible. He'd realized that many of the things he did for Methos were simply old-fashioned courtesies toward ladies - which made sense when he considered that in an earlier era, most women were pregnant a good deal of the time. He refrained from passing on his sudden insight to Methos, however, not having a death wish.

"l agree that the acoustics in the first place were lousy, but the second place seemed fine," Methos was saying to Joe.

Joe shrugged. "I dunno. There was just something about the atmosphere..."

Methos stared at Joe. "The atmosphere."

"Yeah. It just...it didn't seem right."

"Fine.  Next time, why don't you check out the _atmosphere_ first, before you drag us to see places you're not even remotely interested in."

"All right, I will," Joe said, not in the least fazed by Methos' irritation.

"Good." Methos headed towards the house, rubbing the small of his back. "God, I have _got_ to take a leak."

"You should think about lying down for a while," Duncan said, concerned about the way Methos was moving. "Maybe take a nap."

"Mac, I'm _fine_ ," he said with affectionate exasperation. "I'm not tired and I don't need a nap. I'll put up my feet and read, all right?"

"Okay," Duncan agreed, taking his coat. He hung it up as Methos shuffled through the library to the little bathroom in the delivery room/nursery. Duncan looked into the kitchen then the library and frowned.

"Where is everyone?" he wondered aloud. "I know Connor must be here, and none of the other cars are gone."

Joe shrugged. "Maybe they're in the living room watching TV."

"Could be." Duncan hung up his own coat and took Joe's, then went through the library. "Methos, you want something to drink?" he called through the delivery room door.

Methos opened the door and came out, frowning as he tried to readjust his clothes. "Juice would be good. Beer would be better. Dammit, why won't this lay down right?"

"Juice it is, and probably because you've got half the shirt tucked in your pants." He pulled the offending shirt out and smoothed it down.

Methos grinned at him over his shoulder. "Are you copping a feel, MacLeod?"

"Every chance I get."

"If you two have finished groping each other," Joe said dryly, "it might be a good idea for Methos to sit for a while." He gestured toward the living room. "And I'd love to see a movie on that new gadget you were raving about."

Duncan dropped a kiss on Methos' shoulder. "Go sit down, Grumpy, and I'll bring you some juice."

Methos nodded and headed toward the living room, frowning as he saw that the door from the middle section of the house to the living room was closed. They never closed that door.

"Mac?" he said, gesturing with his head towards the door.

Duncan's eyes met his, and he nodded as he reached for a bo he'd left leaning by the fireplace. He cautiously reached for the door handle. "Stay back, Methos, Joe."

"Mac, I don't think that's necessary," Joe began but Duncan had already flung open the door and burst through, automatically falling into a defensive position.

"Sur...prise!"

Duncan froze at the chorus of voices and looked around. In the short time they'd been gone, the room had been transformed. A long table stood against one wall, laden with a punch bowl, cake and several platters of goodies. The couch had been pushed back to make room for a large blue chair with matching footrest, and a stack of gaily wrapped packages sat to one side. Cutout pictures of storks decorated the walls, streamers hung from every surface, and two large banners in pink and blue each declared, "It's a Baby!".

"What the hell..." Methos' voice said at his shoulder, and Duncan was irritated that Methos hadn't stayed back. "Oh. My. God."

Amanda laughed and clapped her hands in delight. "It's a baby shower!" she crowed. "Are you surprised?"

"Shocked is more like it," Methos said. He turned his head to glare at Joe, who was grinning lat him. "You were in on this, weren't you?"

"Guilty as charged," Joe said cheerfully. He pushed gently at Methos. "Go on. It's a party. You're supposed to enjoy it."

Methos pointedly refrained from saying anything rude to Joe. Uncomfortable as surprise parties made him feel, he could see that Duncan was delighted. He looked like a big kid as he advanced on his cousin, bo in hand.

"You're in on this, too, I take it?"

Connor grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Would I miss an opportunity to embarrass you, cousin? I've heard about baby shower parties."

Duncan laughed, setting aside the bo so he could wrap Connor in an exuberant hug.

"Sit here," Richie called to Methos, gesturing toward the chair. "It's from Joe. It was delivered last week, and I had a helluva time hiding it."

Methos cautiously sat down and was  startled when the chair slid back slightly. "What the hell..."

"It's a glider," Joe explained. "The people at the store said it's even better than a rocking chair, and that babies just love it."

Methos leaned back and put up his feet on the ottoman. "Not bad," he admitted.

Duncan seemed determined to hug everyone in the room as he admired the decorations and laughed at the sight of the cake; Methos shuddered to think what cheesy saying had been scrawled across the top of it. Duncan dropped onto the end of the couch nearest to Methos and said, enthusiastically, "Is this wonderful or something?"

Methos felt a genuine smile tug at the corner of his mouth at the sight of such delight on his spouse's face. "Oh, it's something, all right."

"Presents?" Duncan said, spying the pile of brightly wrapped boxes and a couple oddly shaped bundles sitting in front of the entertainment center.

"That's the usual point of a shower," Methos said dryly. "That, and embarrassing the pregnant person." He turned to Amanda. "You're not planning on playing any of those silly games, are you, Amanda?"

"Moi?" Amanda asked innocently, and grinned as Methos' eyes narrowed at her. "Don't worry, you're safe. Joe said you'd kill us if we did the 'guessing your girth' game, and I promise we'll make Duncan wear the hat."

"Hat?" Duncan asked blankly.

Alexandra handed them each a cup of punch. "All the ribbons from the presents are attached to a paper plate, and then the mother-to-be wears it as a hat for the rest of the party."

Duncan arched an eyebrow. "Sounds like fun. Sure you don't want the honor?"

"Absolutely."

Duncan looked at the smiling faces of their friends.  A swell of love and gratitude filled him. "I can't believe you did this! Thank you."

"Enough talking, Uncle Duncan," John said, handing him a package. "Start opening."

Duncan chuckled as he obediently ripped off the wrapping paper to reveal a large black backpack. "I'll bite - what is it?"

"A diaper bag," John said, grinning. "I picked it out myself; figured neither of you guys would want to carry one of those cutesy bags with bunnies and stuff on it."

"Good choice," Methos said approvingly, setting down his plate and cup so Duncan could pass him the pack to investigate the interior and exterior pockets. Duncan opened the next box and lifted out something that looked like a vest.

"What on earth is this?"

Grace smiled. "It's a Snugly - a baby carrier. It lets you carry the baby close to you while freeing your hands. There are two of them, one for each baby, and they convert from front to back carriers as the baby gets bigger."

"I remember women used slings like this," Methos said, investigating it with interest.

"Same concept, only no risk of the baby falling out," Grace said.

"Mine next." Richie handed each a box.

Methos pulled the paper off his box and grinned. "A bouncy seat?"

Richie grinned back. "Figure if they're as active when they get out as they are now, you'll need _something_ to keep them amused."

Methos chuckled and looked over at the baby monitor Duncan had unwrapped. "Ah, the perfect present for the worry-wart in the family."

"That's what I thought, too," Richie said. "See, you plug this in near the babies in the nursery and turn it on, then you carry this part with you, and you can hear what's going on. Figured it'd keep you from running into the nursery every five minutes."

Duncan grinned. "You know me too well."

Joe handed them each a package. "These are from me, to go with the chair."

Methos recognized the feel of his present and tore off the wrapping. "Books?"

"Yeah, I figure you'll want to get started early with these guys," Joe said. "My sister recommended them."

Methos sifted through the stack of brightly colored books. "'Good-night Moon', 'Runaway Bunny', 'If You Give a Mouse a Cookie'...hey, I've heard of this one." He started reading.

"No reading now," Amanda said firmly, taking the books away. Methos made a face at her and looked over at Duncan, who had unwrapped two album-sized books.

"Baby books," Joe said, gesturing to them. "You put pictures in them, record things like first words, first step..."

"First katana," Richie added, grinning.

"...and stuff like that," Joe finished, ignoring Richie. "So you can remember them as babies when they're all grown up."

Duncan slowly looked through the pages, feeling a lump come to his throat. "Thanks, Joe."

"Now, don't go getting all teary-eyed on us," Amanda ordered, setting a stack of small, flat boxes on the floor between them and handing each of them a box. "These are from me."

Duncan opened the box. He lifted out a pink outfit that looked like a sleeveless shirt attached to a small sleeping bag, noting that there were blue and yellow ones under it. "This is for them to sleep in?"

Amanda nodded, smiling. "The sales lady says these are all the rage; you don't need to put a blanket over the baby, so they don't get all tangled up or risk smothering. Clever, huh?"

Duncan nodded. "Great idea." He glanced over to see that Methos had opened a box of more traditional looking sleepers. Amanda handed them more boxes, and by the time they finished opening all of them, they had a stack of tiny shirts, sleepers, overalls, booties, and assorted accessories. The babies wouldn't have to worry about clothing for the first few months - longer, if he knew their "Aunt" Amanda.

"These are from me," Julian said. He handed Methos an oddly shaped bundle that turned out, when unwrapped, to be a baby bath filled with baby care needs, everything from shampoo and wash to a thermometer and nail clippers. Duncan unwrapped a stack of diapers, diaper covers and pins, and a contract from a local diaper service for two years. He looked questioningly at Methos.

"I guess you've resolved the cloth or disposable question?"

"Was there ever a question?" Methos asked. "Mac, the amount of disposable diapers that end up in landfills is - "

"I know, I know, Mr. Ecology," Duncan teased. "I agree, but I don't want to hear any bitching about soggy diapers."

"These are from me," Connor said, setting two large boxes in front of them. Duncan ripped the paper off both to reveal infant car seats that doubled as carriers. "I checked, and these are the safest ones on the market. Can't be too careful with the newest MacLeods, heh?"

"And this is from me," Alexandra said, pushing forward a twin stroller with a large brightly-colored bow tied on it and a teddy bear in each seat. Methos grinned as he picked up the one with a pink bow and showed it to Duncan.

"Look, Harvey's got new friends. He might get jealous if you take _them_ to bed."

Duncan rolled his eyes but didn't say anything to his wayward spouse. Instead he looked around the room at each of their friends, and didn't know if he'd be able to speak around the lump in his throat. "This was a wonderful surprise, and I don't know what to say except 'thank you'.  When we look at these wonderful gifts you've given to us, we'll see the love that is behind each and know that we've been truly blessed with our friends." Too choked to continue, he reached out to grasp Methos' hand.

Methos came to his rescue. "I'd like to say something as well." He squeezed Duncan's hand. "A year ago, if you'd told me what I'd be doing now, I'd have said you were out of your bloody minds. I never expected any of this to happen." He glanced down at his belly. "Obviously." There were snickers from a couple of them. "But right now, I wouldn't change a thing." He paused. "And now, it's time to eat."

There were cheers from Richie and John as they led the assault on the buffet table, followed more sedately by the others. Duncan was content to sit where he was for the moment, though, watching his friends, his family, with Methos' hand in his. All the people he cared most about in the world were here, together and healthy and happy. And, as he looked at all their faces, he knew he didn't need a particular day to feel thankful. He felt plenty grateful right now.


	57. Chapter 57

 Duncan awoke and immediately realized that the bed beside him was empty. "Methos?"

"Here." His voice came from the other side of the bedroom, and Duncan sat up, rubbing his eyes. Through the darkness, he could just make out Methos, sitting in the glide-rocker.

Duncan pulled on his robe as he crossed the room to sit on the ottoman. "Can't sleep?"

"Didn't want to."

"Didn't want to? Methos, in a few hours, we've got seven guests descending upon us for Christmas holidays! Between the birthday party and everything else, you're going to be exhausted. You've been uncomfortable all day. I should think that a few hours of unconsciousness would be welcome."

"They're moving," Methos murmured. Duncan's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see that Methos' hand was on his belly, stroking it slowly.

Duncan moved his hand to rest next to Methos'. "You've felt them move before."

"I know, but..." Methos sighed. "In the dark, when everyone is asleep except them and me, they feel so _close_. I can _feel_ them, Duncan. Feel their heads and their bottoms and their elbows. Right there, just under my hand."

Duncan smiled and rubbed his hand over the distended abdomen. "Incredible, isn't it?" The movement was stronger, and Duncan could swear that he saw one small body tumble over the other, rippling Methos' belly oddly before it settled into place again. He could almost feel Methos' smile at his startled exclamation. "Do they do that often?"

"Often enough."

"I bet you'll be glad to have them out."

"Oddly enough, no," Methos said slowly, "d _espite_ the pain, the discomfort, the fact that I can't eat a damn thing without getting heartburn and everything I drink goes through me in five minutes, tops." His hand slowly stroked his abdomen again. "They're...safe in here. I suppose that sounds completely idiotic."

"No, as a matter of fact, it doesn't." Duncan's fingers trailed over the skin, following what felt like a wiggling foot. "It's a scary world out here. But they'll have a lot of protectors, too."

Methos sighed. "I know. I'm being selfish, thinking that I can protect them best."

"You're not selfish," Duncan said softly, continuing to caress Methos' belly. He could never get enough of this, of being able to touch Methos so intimately. "It's natural to think you can protect them the best; you've been doing a damn fine job of it for the past eight months, after all."

Methos shut his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Duncan's fingers moving over his skin. It felt so good, so calming, so...erotic. Intimate and arousing, and several parts of his body were becoming interested in the proceedings.

"Keep doing that, and you'll get your birthday present early."

Duncan grinned. "So, I'm getting _you_ for my birthday? That's a gift that keeps on giving."

"Smart ass. And you already have me."

"Mmm." Duncan kissed him, catching at Methos' bottom lip with his teeth. "I'm having trouble remembering. Maybe I need a refresher."

"Your seduction techniques need work," Methos said dryly.

"All your fault," Duncan murmured. "I haven't needed to use them in so long..."

"Are you saying I'm easy, Duncan MacLeod?"

"Well..."

"No birthday present for _you_!"

"That's too bad," Duncan said, letting his fingers move lower so that the palm of his hand brushed over his cock. "I was looking forward to unwrapping it. Not to mention playing with it: combination bed/bath toy and kitchen utensil..."

"Kitchen utensil?"

"Well, you _have_ been used in the kitchen, and more than once as I recall."

Methos suppressed a groan as the caressing hand brushed over him again. "That sounds seriously unsanitary."

"That's why proper after-use cleaning is so important.  Double rinse cycle."

"How do you propose to fit me in the washer, now that I'm roughly the size of a whale? Because it's _not_ detachable," Methos retorted.

"Ah, well, there's always Woolite and the sink," Duncan said.

"Because we all know I'm a 'fine washable'." Methos started laughing. "You're seriously twisted; you know that, don't you?"

"Must be the company I keep." Duncan leaned forward to kiss Methos hard. "Bed. Now."

He tugged Methos out of the glider and steered him toward the bed, and made slow, sweet love to him. There was no rush to completion, no frantic urgency, just the steady rhythm, sweet kisses, and soft words murmured to each other. Even their climaxes were unhurried, warmth slowly unfurling within their bodies until it spilled from them.

Joined together, not just in body, but heart and soul as well, they fell into an easy and deep sleep.

* * *

 

Methos was still sleeping when Duncan got up, dressed quietly, and went downstairs to prepare for their visitors. Connor was notorious for being obnoxiously prompt, and Duncan had enough experience with his cousin's quirky sense of humor to not want to get caught still in bed.

Richie was in the kitchen when Duncan walked in. "Up already, Richie?"

"Up _still_ ," Richie corrected, the grin on his face telling Duncan all he needed to know. He rolled his eyes and headed for the coffeepot. "Hey, someone has to pick up the slack since you've retired from the list of eligible bachelors."

"I just hope you know what you're getting into," Duncan said, pouring coffee and grabbing a banana as he returned to the table.

"Relax, Mac. It's nothing serious, just a little fun for both of us."

"And who is it this week? Monique?"

"It wasn't Monique, it was _Michelle_. And no, it's not her. It's someone I met a couple days ago at one of the dance clubs. Suzanne."

"Just be certain _you_ remember which is which," Duncan murmured, taking a sip of coffee.

Richie shrugged. "Easy. I only date one at a time, and I don't mention names in bed. Even when I'm...you know."

"That's more than I wanted to know about your sex life."

"Speaking of bed and sex lives, the Old Guy still sleeping?" Duncan nodded, flushing slightly, and Richie snorted. "You two at it again? I woulda thought, big as he is now, sex would be ...I dunno. Weird. Not to mention impossible."

A smile tugged at Duncan's mouth. "Anything's possible if you want it badly enough. It's just a matter of logistics. Lining things up properly, so to speak."

"TMI, Mac."

"As for weird, not at all. I think he's just so beautiful..." Duncan's voice trailed off, remembering the way Methos looked in the shower the previous night, his skin flushed and damp, his eyes bright with laughter.

"Earth to Mac," Richie said, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Sorry," Duncan said, taking another sip from his coffee. "So, what are your plans for the day?"

"Other than a shower and a nap? Nada. I'm at your disposal, Mac."

Duncan lifted an eyebrow. "So this girl, Suzanne, doesn't expect your time today?"

Richie's face went still and serious. "Mac, it's your birthday, and you're _family_. You're, like, a hundred times more important to me than any girl. Always have been and always will be."

Duncan's throat tightened and he nodded his thanks. "But eventually you'll find a girl who means as much to you as your stodgy, overly-demanding surrogate dad.  Or guy." He finished his coffee and rose to refill his cup and get a glass of orange juice.

Richie looked askance at the older man. "Hey, just because you changed your flavor of the month doesn't mean I will."

Duncan grinned as he sat back down at the table. "Never is a long time when you're immortal. A very long time. Never thought I'd end up married to the most irritating, complicated, fascinating..."

"Demanding, annoying, dangerous son of a bitch on the whole damn planet," Richie finished for him with a smirk.

"All of that, too," Duncan conceded, and he smiled as he remembered the night's events.

"I don't even want to know what you're thinking about," Richie said. "Well, my nap is calling me.  What time's Connor arriving?"

"Ten," he said. "Julian and Joe'll be right behind them, and Amanda and Nick will be here sometime in the afternoon."

Richie looked at Duncan with concern. "You sure about Nick being here? He hasn't seen 'Adam' since the wedding. He's going to be a bit...shocked."

"That's putting it mildly," Duncan said with a sigh. "We can't exclude him. He's with Amanda, he wants to be with her over Christmas, and she wants to be with us." He shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, well, I hope it doesn't blow up in our faces," Richie said, heading towards the stairs. Duncan hoped it didn't, either, but there wasn't much he could do at this point.

He was enjoying his second cup of coffee when the perimeter alert went off. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it had to be either Connor or Julian. He went to the window, smiling as he recognized his cousin at the wheel of the rental car pulling into the parking area.

He set his cup in the sink and headed towards the door, then was almost knocked down by the exuberant hug Johnny gave him as he rushed in.

"Happy Birthday, Uncle Duncan! You'll never guess what I got you. not in a million years!"

"Better than the pencil can you made for me in art class five years ago?" Duncan teased, and Johnny's face went red with embarrassment.

"Aw, come on! I was just a _kid_ then!" Johnny said, mortified. "This is totally awesome. Even Dad says so."

Duncan laughed at the thought of his cousin saying those words and he ruffled the teen's hair. "I'm sure whatever you got me will be wonderful. You're in the same room as last time so go on up while I give your folks a hand with the luggage."

Johnny went thundering off through the house like a true teenage boy. Duncan winced: if Grace wasn't awake already, she'd certainly be now. He grabbed his coat off the hook and went outside, shivering as the chill wind bit through the heavy wool. A cold wave had moved into the region, and Meteo France was forecasting the same sub-zero temperatures through Christmas.

"Duncan!" Connor called out as he crossed the yard to enfold his cousin in a bear hug. "Happy Birthday!"

Duncan grinned as he hugged Connor back. It felt like it had been more than a month since he'd last seen his cousin and mentor, and he was delighted to see him again.

"Thanks. How was the trip?"

"Cold," Alexandra said, shivering as she got out of the car. "I swear the temperature dropped 50 degrees crossing the Channel."

"Just be thankful there hasn't been much snow," Duncan said, helping Connor get the luggage out of the trunk. "They're saying we could have the coldest winter in a decade."

"They think _this_ is cold?" Connor scoffed. "We've seen _much_ worse. I remember that one winter, shortly after I found you, when it was so cold you thought your John Thomas would drop off. Not that there was much chance of that, as warm as you kept it in your plaid at night. More of a chance of it being _pulled_ off."

"As I recall, you were keeping _yours_ warm in the innkeeper's daughter's bed," Duncan retorted, then flushed as he glanced over at Alexandra. "Um, sorry."

Alex laughed. "No need to be embarrassed, Duncan. I hardly expected my husband to be unspoiled at his age." She gave Connor an amused, appraising look. "So, was this the innkeeper's daughter who taught you that little trick with your-- "

"I don't think Duncan's interested in hearing about that," Connor said hastily.

Duncan gave him a wide-eyed look. "Of _course_ I'm interested. You're my teacher, aren't you? How else will I learn if not from following _your_ example?"

Connor snorted. "As I recall, you didn't need training in that area. You always had ..."

"...All the fun and most of the best women," Duncan finished in chorus. All three of them laughed.

"And speaking about having the best," Connor said, handing Duncan a suitcase as he waggled his eyebrows at him, "how's Himself doing these days?"

"Grumpy, irritable, irritating, sarcastic, and incredibly beautiful. That glowing thing people talk about? It's not a myth. Sometimes when I look at him, he takes my breath away."

"Julian said Adam was feeling under the weather at the beginning of the month," Connor said as they started towards the house with the luggage and several festively wrapped packages.

Duncan nodded. "Nothing serious, just a bit of a head cold. Took a while for it to clear out of his chest, though."

Alex wrinkled her forehead. "I didn't think you could catch a cold."

"We can _catch_ one," Connor told her. "It's just that we usually heal before we even feel the first sniffle. With Adam's reduced healing..."

"He's better now, though it gave him a handy excuse for missing the last staff meeting at the mediatheque. The way he looks, they'd have suspected something the minute they saw him."

"How's the job going?" Alex asked as they entered the house. "Last time we were here, he told me there were some...problems with his supervisor."

"Dr. Bruecher?" Duncan asked, frowning. "She's not the most pleasant person in the world. The one time I met her, she acted as if I was something found on the bottom of her shoe."

"You?" Connor interrupted in mock surprise. "That's not the usual response you get from women, Duncan. Could it be that you're losing your touch?"

"More likely, the answer is that Dr. Bruecher isn't quite human. I suspect she's a harpy in disguise," came a sleepy voice from the library. The group in the hallway looked into the room to see Methos slowly making his way toward them as he tied his dressing gown belt.

"I didn't know you were awake," Duncan said, setting down the suitcases and crossing to take Methos in his arms for a morning hug.

"I was until a small earthquake shook the house. I assume that was John?"

Connor sighed. "I don't know how one boy manages to make so much noise simply crossing a room. How are you doing, Adam?"

"Tolerably well," Methos responded. "Alex, you're looking as charming as ever. And your Journal of Field Archeology paper on the Outer Hebrides site was an incredible piece of scholarly work, superb use of data. Even if some of your theories are a bit off."

"Oh, and I suppose you'd know because you were there," Alex retorted, then her eyes widened at the mischief in his eyes. "Hell, you _were_ there! Just how old _are_ you?"

"Now, now, my love," Connor chided, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "Don't you know that's the sort of question you don't ask an Immortal?"

"Speaking of questions," Duncan said, frowning at his own spouse. "Why didn't you tell me you were having problems with your supervisor?"

Methos sighed. "Because I didn't need Duncan MacLeod, White Knight Extraordinaire, to ride in on his gallant steed to fight the dragon for me. I can handle one petty, small-minded harpy without your help, thank you very much."

"Sounds like you're doing a really fine job of not letting it get to you," Duncan retorted. "You know, I _am_ capable of listening to your problems without having to rush out and solve them for you." He glared at Connor, who had gone into a coughing fit. "You shut up."

"Would you like us to go to our room so you two can fight in private?" Alex asked, trying not to smile too widely.

"Sorry," Duncan murmured, abruptly reminded of his hosting duties. He gave Methos another hug and then went back into the hallway for the suitcases. "Did you eat anything on the flight?" he asked, leading the way up the stairs to the room that had been designated Connor's.

Methos shook his head in amusement as the sound of their voices faded up the stairway. Duncan would never stop trying to 'mother' his clan members. He slowly made his way into the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for Duncan's World Class Omelet.

A sharp clenching of his abdomen made him grab the counter as he breathed through the contraction. Damn Braxton-Hickses seemed to be occurring on a daily basis now, and he was heartily sick of them. Not to mention the swelling of his feet, the constant heartburn, the fatigue that had returned during the past month...

There was a thumping inside, and his lips curled into a private smile as his hand slid down to tickle the little foot. He wouldn't have missed a single moment of this for the world.

 

* * *

 

Julian and Joe had arrived and settled in, and the entire house party was enjoying cocktails in the library, when the tooting of a car horn let Duncan know that Amanda had arrived. She burst into the hallway in a flurry of snowflakes,  fur and expensive perfume, laughing as she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly.

"Happy birthday, darling!"

Duncan grinned and kissed her back. "Thanks. How was the drive?"

"Terrible!" Amanda said, shivering as she stripped off her gloves and tossed them and her fur-lined hat on the hall table. "So cold and it started to snow as we left Paris. I _hate_ winter."

"You and Methos, both." He glanced past her and smiled a greeting at Nick who was struggling with a garment bag he'd flung over his shoulder, an overnight case tucked under his arm, and a large suitcase in his other hand.

Duncan hurriedly relieved Nick of some of the bags he was carrying. "Are these all hers?"

Nick nodded. "Of course. I assume she's planning to change outfits every hour."

"I did tell her we weren't planning anything formal," Duncan said, amused.

"I'm so glad to hear it since all I brought was jeans, khakis, and a few sweaters."

"I need to have choices," Amanda said sweetly from behind them, "and some of what I packed was," she paused and looked at Nick with a wicked smile, "strictly for your enjoyment." Nick rolled his eyes.

"I've put you in the same room you used the last time you were here, Amanda," Duncan said quickly, sensing that Amanda was in one of her teasing moods and that Nick was not in the frame of mind to appreciate it. "I'll lead the way, then we'll come back for your bags, Nick."

"I don't need any help," Nick said, looking at Amanda darkly. "I just have one bag and my laptop." He followed Duncan, dumped the bags, and went back out for his own luggage.

Duncan looked at Amanda as she started hanging her clothes in the closet. "Do you work on irritating the poor guy?"

Amanda grinned. "I like to keep him on this toes, and darling, it always worked on you. One moment irritated and the next moment passionate." She tilted her head. "I think I've heard it called the ‘fight or fuck' reaction."

"I think you're getting that mixed up with the ‘fight or flight' reaction," Duncan said.

Amanda shrugged. "Fight, flight, fuck? Whatever gets the adrenaline flowing." Duncan grinned; he and Methos certainly had their fair share of such ‘fight or fuck' situations.

Nick came in with his two bags and dropped them on the bed, and Amanda smiled at him. "Let's go downstairs to say ‘hello' to everyone else," she suggested, wrapping her hands around his arm and looking up at him in a way Duncan was very familiar with. It looked like Amanda had decided to divert Nick's irritation into other channels. "You can have a lovely drink and relax after that nasty drive, poor dear."

Duncan smothered a grin as he watched Nick visibly melt under Amanda's coaxing. "That sounds great," Nick said. "Driving from Paris in the middle of a blizzard wasn't my idea of fun."

"I'm sure we can find just what you want," Duncan said, leading them down to the library. "We've got a full bar and a large selection of beer to choose from."

"At this point, I'd take grain...Oh.My.God." Nick stood frozen in shock as he got first glimpse of Methos. "What the hell happened to you? You look pregnant!"

Methos smirked. "I am."

Duncan whispered to Amanda, " _You_ were supposed to explain on the drive down."

She shrugged. "It was too difficult a drive. We didn't talk much."

Nick stared. "How the hell can you be _pregnant_? In the first place, you're a man. In the second...fuck the second. _You're a man_!"

Methos grinned. "Well, I can't even see my crotch right now but last time I checked, I was definitely male. Next question?"

Nick took the drink that Duncan put in his hand and took a large swallow. In a strangled voice, he asked, "Is this _legal_?"

Methos burst out laughing. "How could it possibly be illegal to be pregnant? We're not in China, you know."

Nick drained his glass and handed it to his host. Duncan smothered his grin as he refilled the glass and handed it back.

"How the...where on earth...is this some kind of experiment?"

"No," Methos said. "These babies were made the old-fashioned way."

Nick blanched at that, then blinked and said, "Babies? As in more than _one_?"

Methos grinned wickedly. "Twins. If you want to feel them kicking, you can put your hand on my tummy any old time."

Nick stared at Methos. "I want to put my hand on your stomach as much as I want to put it in a trap." A sudden look of horror crossed his face, and he swiveled to stare at Amanda. "I thought you told me it was _safe_ , that Immortals couldn't _get_ pregnant!"

Richie smothered a snicker; Duncan managed to glower at him while reassuring Nick. "You don't have to worry. This can only happen under...special circumstances."

"But a _man_?" Nick asked, staring at Methos' belly the way people stare at someone else's car wreck. "Those would have to be some pretty special circumstances!"

Grace intervened, taking Nick gently by the arm and tugging him toward the nursery/delivery room. "Why don't you let me explain? I'm Grace, one of the physicians covering this case."

Nick let himself be led out of the room. "Hey," Richie called after Grace and Nick, "are you really going to explain _exactly_ how Adam got pregnant? You know, the intimate details?"

Grace paused in the door. "Why, dear?"

"'Cause I don't want to miss the look on Nick's face."

"Not actually sure I'd want to miss that, either," Methos said. "But it's going to take an act of God to get me out of this chair. Hey, Rich, will you take notes?"

"I don't think so," Alex said firmly. "He's going to be too busy running back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, carrying things."

"Hey," Richie grumbled. "I didn't volunteer to be a busboy."

"Darling," Amanda said sweetly as she herded him towards the kitchen. "No one's suggesting you act as a busboy. That's for after we all eat. Right now, you're going to be one of the waiters."

"Johnny!" Alex called out. "I know you're in the living room, and I know you heard me, so don't ignore me, young man. We'll be needing you, too!"

As the women disappeared, Duncan looked at Methos and grinned. "It's going to take an act of God to get you out of that chair, is it?"

"Consider yourself deified," Methos said, holding out a hand. "I need to get to the loo. Again. I think one of them is using my bladder as a trampoline." Duncan took the offered hand and helped his spouse rise. Methos looked around at the other men left in the library. "I'm going to the living room when I'm done, and I've no particular desire to sit in there by myself."

Connor grinned. "And this is supposed to matter because...?"

"It's this pregnancy thing," Julian said. "It gives him delusions. Like we might actually give a damn what room he happens to be in."

Methos smiled pleasantly at both of them as he refilled his glass.

"Or that we care whether he wants to sit by himself," Connor added. "And it's probably not just the pregnancy thing. He's been spoiled rotten by my spineless fool of a cous - aii!!"

Connor shrieked as Methos' entire glass of ice water cascaded over his head. Joe's last swallow of bourbon came out his nose as he started laughing, and Julian simply slid down on the couch and roared.

"You were saying what about my husband?" Methos asked politely.

Connor, blinked, his hair dripping onto his collar. "Nothing. I wasn't saying a thing **.** "

Duncan shook his head. "You're really slipping, cousin. Not only are you fool enough to tease a hugely pregnant, dangerous, old guy, but you're idiot enough to let him get _behind_ you."

Connor shrugged, grinning. "So it goes. And I think I need a change of clothes."

"Aye, that you do."

Laughter echoed through the room for a long time after that.

 

* * *

 

A half hour later, the group gathered in the living room where a birthday buffet had been set out. Joe filled all their glasses as Duncan was installed in the lounge chair in the center of a pile of presents, and then everyone settled down to watch as he unwrapped them. There were beautiful silk shirts from Alex and Amanda. Johnny and Connor had given him a lovely Sgian Dubh, an ornamental Scottish knife, with matching sheath, and there was a bottle of Cognac from Nick. Julian and Grace handed him a large, gaily wrapped box, which proved to contain a new coat, lined with the MacLeod hunting tartan in cashmere. Duncan ran his hand over the fine, soft wool and stared the two physicians in astonishment.

"We had it made for you," Grace said. "I noticed your old one was getting frayed."

"There's a sheath sewn in for your sword," Julian remarked helpfully, "and it's balanced to compensate for the weight."

Duncan donned the coat to admiring comments while Connor fetched his katana. Duncan settled it in the sheath, noting the ease with which it slipped out.

"It's perfect," Duncan pronounced.

He handed the sword back to Connor who took it back to its usual resting place near the door. Methos held out his hand for the coat as Duncan took it off, stroked the soft cashmere against his face, and then curled up on the couch with it against him like a cat snuggling into a nest.

Julian chuckled. "Best make sure your husband doesn't steal your new coat, Mac.".

Duncan grinned. "I think he took literally the vow about 'with all my worldly goods I thee endow'. Especially my clothing. Most of my sweaters are totally stretched out of shape."

Richie anxiously handed over a small package, which Duncan opened to reveal a book entitled "Nippon to Art Swords of Japan". Duncan stared at him in surprise. "This is one of the most important catalogs on Japanese sword blades ever issued. Where on earth did you find it?"

Richie grinned. "Adam helped me find it, on the 'net. You really like it, Mac?"

"I really like it, Richie," Duncan said, smiled up at his student and flashing another smile over at Methos.

Richie's grin widened. "Well, if I'd been left on my own, I'd probably have come up with a subscription to Playboy or a collection of grunge and techno music."

"Then I'm relieved you sought out Adam's help. This is truly special. Thank you."

Richie glowed with satisfaction and Duncan turned to a large box. "That one's from me," Joe said. "Just open it on the floor. It's a bit heavy to lift."

Duncan unfolded the paper from the top and looked in awe at an entire case of The Macallan. "My god, man," he said reverently. "This is worth its weight in gold."

Joe grinned. "I get a barkeep's discount, and I thought you might be needed some sedation around here in the months to come. This ought to go down rather easily."

"I'll say," Methos said happily. "Can we open a bottle?" Duncan glared at him. "Oh, for God's sake, Mac; I'm far enough long that a single shot of the best scotch in the world isn't going to hurt them." He looked at Julian for support and got a nod. "Besides, I mostly want to smell it. That alone is enough to make me high."

Duncan nodded his acquiescence. "How about a round for all?" he suggested. Connor's eyes lit up and he quickly fetched glasses as Duncan opened one of the bottles and poured each guest a healthy shot.

The entire party sat back, sipping at the aged Scotch while Methos, eyes closed, just held his glass to his nose, breathing deeply. He put the glass down and picked up a pair of neatly wrapped flat boxes. "These are from me," he said. "With help from Grace and Joe."

Duncan raised his eyebrows in inquiry, but Joe was just grinning from ear to ear while Grace looked mysterious, indicating that she was clearly spending too much time with Methos. Duncan set one of the packages on his lap and carefully peeled the paper away from the other. And then his breath caught in his throat.

There, gazing at him, was [Methos](http://diana.slashcity.com/miscon/images/Preg-Methos.jpg) . His back was against a rough hewn wall, his very pregnant and very naked body discreetly displayed in profile. Methos was looking out of the picture, directly at him, and the expression on his face was a mixture of love and mischief.

"Grace took the picture, that day in the springs," Methos said, "and I found someone to convert the Polaroids into paintings. Joe played courier for the original pictures and the paintings."

"It's incredible," Duncan breathed. He knew there were tears in his eyes, remembering what he'd told Grace that day, how he'd said he regretted that they didn't have any pictures of Methos to remember this time. Looking down at the picture he held, he knew he'd never be able to say that again. "Thank you."

He handed the picture to Amanda who whistled softly as she got a good look at it before passing it around. Duncan opened the other painting; he smiled as he remembered the setting for this one. They were both in the spring, Duncan on his knees with his cheek resting on Methos' abdomen as he listened to the babies moving inside. Methos' hand rested on Duncan's head, and the soft expression on his face brought a lump to Duncan's throat.

"They're beautiful," he murmured. "I love them." He looked up at Methos and smiled a bit misty-eyed. "And I love you."

"I know," Methos said softly. And in his eyes was that same expression, the one that said more than words, just how much Duncan was loved in return. "Happy Birthday."

 

* * *

 

Duncan plopped down on his back on the bed, grinning foolishly at the ceiling. It had been an incredible birthday, one of the best he could remember. With Christmas only a few days away and the babies due sometime during the next month, everything was near perfect in his world.

He heard Methos moving around the room and shifted up on his elbows to watch his spouse. Methos was looking through the wardrobe for something and he unabashedly ogled his ass mentally stripping away the clothes.

Methos looked around and saw the lascivious look on his face. "Perv."

"What?" Duncan asked innocently.

"You're eyeing my arse with carnal intent. _Despite_ having already had me once today."

"Can I help it if I find you so...stimulating? And, after all, it _is_ my birthday."

A corner of Methos' mouth twitched. "And you think you've been a good enough boy to warrant additional presents?"

Duncan adopted the smoldering look that had ensnared tougher challenges than Methos. "I've been _very_ good." He licked his bottom lip enticingly and knew he'd hit pay dirt when he heard the sharp intake of Methos' breath.

Methos shut the drawer with a bang, and his eyes glittered in a way that made Duncan's breath catch and his heart race. "Oh?" Methos purred. "You think you've been very good?"

Duncan nodded, unable to take his eyes off Methos as he prowled forward. "I could be even better," he said hoarsely.

Methos stopped beside him and leaned close. "How much better?"

Duncan sat up, his hands reaching for the fastenings of Methos' pants, but Methos stepped back. "Not so fast. You haven't opened my present yet."

"Not for lack of trying." Duncan reached for Methos again.

Methos snorted and held out a box. " _This_ present, idiot." Then he pulled it back slightly. "Unless you don't want - "

Duncan snatched the box out of Methos' hands. "What is it?" he asked, giving it an experimental shake.

"You _could_ open it and find out."

"It's much more fun pestering you with questions," Duncan said, grinning.

Methos rolled his eyes and rested a hand on his swollen belly. "Why am I having children when I already have one?" he asked the ceiling. Looking back at Duncan, he said, "I promise you that the contents are even more fun than tormenting me."

Duncan tore off the wrapping paper and opened a box to find an old fashioned kilt that had seen better days. He looked over at Methos, raising an eyebrow inquiringly. "Feeling a bit kinky tonight, are we? What are we playing: the Highland Captive?"

Methos' lips twitched with amusement. "Something like that. Interested?"

"You have to ask?" Duncan could hear his Highland burr thicken uncontrollably. "Are you up to this, though? Julian said you should take it easy these last few weeks."

Methos raised an arrogant eyebrow. "I think I'm up to topping you, if that's what you're implying. Nothing seriously kinky, but there are...scenarios."

"Such as?"

Methos tilted his head to one side, considering. "I think...I want to see you in the kilt first. Only the kilt. Then I want you down on your knees, servicing me properly. And after that, I want you over the end of the bed so I can flip that kilt up and fuck you into next week."

Duncan groaned as the images went straight to his cock, making him hard and ready. Methos rarely topped him, being a self-professed bottom slut, but when he did, it was always an incredible experience. "Methos..."

"I'm going to take a shower, and you know what I expect to see when I get back."

Duncan hurriedly shed his clothes and put on the kilt. It fit him perfectly and he wondered how long Methos had been harboring this little fantasy. He remembered Methos teasing him on their wedding night about playing a cruel English lord with his defiant Scottish captive and his cock throbbed at the thought. Not that they could indulge in that fantasy tonight: despite what Methos said, intense role-playing would be too strenuous in his current condition. No, tonight he would be the semi-tamed Highlander, slave to his English master's sexual desires. He grinned and loosened his hair from its clasp so it fell loosely around his shoulders, then went to his knees at the end of the bed and waited, head bowed.

The sharp intake of breath as Methos entered the room told him he'd achieved his goal. He heard Methos move closer, saw two slender feet before him, and bent over to kiss them.

"My Lord," he said quietly.

"My lovely Highland slut." A hand carded through his hair, then tugged till he turned his head up. "Isn't that right, Duncan?" Methos tugged off the towel he'd wrapped loosely around his waist, and Duncan's mouth watered at the sight of the half-hard cock in front of him. "Do a good job of it and I might let you come when I'm finished with you."

Duncan stifled his moan by taking Methos into his mouth. He eagerly sucked and stroked, taking it as deep as he could, while his hands kneaded Methos' ass cheeks. He loved doing this for his spouse, loved the feel of Methos' hands in his hair, urging him onward. He glanced upward and saw that his lover's head was thrown back, his eyes closed, as he reveled in Duncan's ministrations. The sight made him hot enough to explode, and he sneaked a hand downward towards his own erection, visibly tenting his kilt.

"Touch it and I'll have to punish you," Methos said, his voice breathless.

That sounded promising, Duncan thought, and he dropped his hand into his lap, "accidentally" rubbing against the hard shaft. He couldn't help the moan that escaped.

"Right," Methos said, his voice stern but slightly shaky as he pulled out of Duncan's mouth. "Over the end of the bed. Eyes down, and don't let me catch you peeking."

Duncan smothered a grin as he took his place, bent over the footboard of the bed, hands braced against the mattress. Methos might as well have held up a sign saying "this way to the trap", and Duncan wasn't about to disappoint him. He watched his lover strip back the sheets and grab the tube of lubricant from the nightstand, feeling his cock harden even more at the sight of Methos walking around nude.

Methos turned back and Duncan hastily - but not too hastily - whipped his head around so he was looking down at the mattress.

"I'm beginning to think you don't know how to obey even the simplest of commands, slut," Methos said severely as he moved behind Duncan and flipped up the kilt.

"Sorry, my Lord."

Methos firmly smacked Duncan's perfectly displayed ass. "You'll be more than sorry before I'm done with you."

Duncan doubted that; he loved it when Methos dominated him and was only sorry when it was over. He grunted and rocked back into the stinging swats he was receiving, relishing the feel as his ass heated up. One of Methos' thumbs pushed its way into his opening, and he moaned as the slick digit stroked in time with the swats.

"Please...please..." he gasped.

"Please what?" Methos asked, stopping the spanking so he could insert his other thumb. Duncan shuddered and pushed back demandingly, and Methos laughed softly. "Please fuck this hungry arse - is that it? Please take you and break you and make you mine? Is that what you want, my Highland whore?"

"Yes..." Duncan gasped. "Oh God, yes..."

Without giving him any more warning than the firm grasp of his hips, Duncan felt Methos push his way home in a single thrust. He groaned again, relishing the feel of being abruptly filled, then sighed as he was just as abruptly emptied.

"Methos..." he whimpered, wriggling backward to try to recapture that full feeling. His ass was smacked again for his presumption, and then Methos thrust back in again. Duncan grabbed fists full of covers, both to hold himself upright and to keep from reaching back to touch Methos, to pull him closer. He let Methos adjust their stance slightly, so that the fullness of Methos' belly was resting on Duncan's ass and back, and braced himself for the thorough pounding he was sure to receive. Methos moved again, just his hips, pulling nearly clear of Duncan before slamming back in, and Duncan didn't even try to restrain the cries tumbling out of him. Endearments, coarse entreaties, and profanities were so mixed up that Duncan couldn't even be sure what he was saying, but Methos seemed to understand because he adjusted their position once more, this time driving in and hitting the pleasure point within. He howled his delight, pushed back hard, and came.

Methos wasn't far behind him, his hips moving for a few more thrusts before he shuddered in completion, murmuring Duncan's name over and over. He grinned wearily and managed to let go of the covers with one hand so he could reach back to touch Methos.

"So good," he murmured. "God, Methos, the things you do to me..."

Methos chuckled slightly and eased out of Duncan's body, then leaned over to press a kiss against his back. "Ditto. Shower?"

"I don't think I can move," Duncan replied, sighing contentedly.

Methos kissed him again and lovingly swatted his ass. "Shower, then sleep," he persisted. "Or we'll both end up sleeping on the floor right here."

"That doesn't sound bad," Duncan said, groaning as he straightened up. He relished the twinges in his body, knowing that all-too-soon they would fade away. But the look on Methos' face was something that would never fade from memory.  Duncan didn't resist the urge to take his mate in his arms and kiss him as an all-too-inadequate thank you. Methos leaned against him wearily, returning the kisses.

"Bed," he said softly to Methos, grabbing some wipes from the nightstand to clean them up with. "We'll shower in the morning."

"You're...the birthday boy," Methos murmured, more than half-asleep on his feet already. "Privileges."

"And I'm exercising them now." He tucked Methos in bed and shed his kilt, then crawled in and took him back in his arms. "Thank you for my presents. All of them." He kissed the spiky hair under his chin and, even though he knew Methos was almost asleep, said softly, "And for being here, with me - the best present I've ever had."

Methos murmured something and Duncan soothed him back to sleep, then closed his own eyes and wrapped Methos closer in his arms. He owed so much of this wonderful day to the man in his arms. His last thought before drifting off was that he really should give Methos a birthday celebration of his own. As he wondered what day to pick, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter features childbirth, in all its fun. It shouldn't be too much, even for the squeamish, but if you really don't want to read about it, you might want to skim.

Duncan strolled into the kitchen and called out a cheerful good morning to his cousin and Nick, who were seated at the dining table.

" _Afternoon_ , Duncan," Connor said in his dry voice, looking up from his lunch. "About time you got out of bed. Where's Adam?"

"In with Julian, getting checked out. They didn't have time yesterday."

"We were wondering if we should send up a recon party," said Nick, smiling.

Duncan opened the fridge and grinned at the pair over the top of the open door. "Good thing you didn't. I know Grace explained the situation, but I doubt you're ready for visuals."

Nick snorted. "MacLeod, I was a _cop_. There's not much I haven't seen, especially since meeting Amanda."

"Do I take it you received additional birthday presents?" Connor added, his eyes twinkling at Duncan.

" _Oh_ , yes." Duncan hummed with satisfaction. " _Many_ presents."

Nick and Connor exchanged a look. "For a skinny-looking pregnant guy, Adam must have a hell of a lot of stamina," Nick said.

"And a hell of a libido," Connor added. "No wonder he can keep you happy at home."

Duncan pulled out sandwich ingredients for both him and Methos. "Nature's last hurrah, Julian calls it. Compensation for future sleepless - and sexless - nights."

"You can consider the last hurrah to be officially over," Julian said as he came into the kitchen. "As of now, Adam is on bed-rest till delivery. I want him horizontal with as little physical exertion as possible."

Duncan put down the knife he'd been using to slice his bread. "But I thought you said he was doing fine. And Grace said his blood pressure's been in the acceptable range."

Julian nodded. "That's true, but the scans I just ran show that the lower walls of the membranes surrounding the babies are thinning, and the twins appear to have moved into delivery position. In a woman, we call it lightening, something I wasn't expecting to have happen for at least two more weeks."

"Aren't twins always premature?" Nick asked. "So what's the big deal? Why not just pop them out right now?" He grinned. "Talk about great Christmas presents."

"The 'big deal', Mr. Wolfe," Julian said, "is that a baby isn't fully developed until it is thirty-eight fetal weeks old. The twins are only at thirty-three weeks, which is five weeks premature. Lungs, in particular, aren't fully developed till thirty-four weeks, so if they were to be born at this point, they might have respiratory problems. In addition, they could have other health problems such as eyesight and hearing difficulties. While I didn't expect Adam to carry them full-term, I had hoped to bring him as close to thirty-five weeks as possible."

"Two more weeks," Duncan murmured.

Connor's eyes widened. "Two weeks of Adam on bed rest? He'll drive you mad!"

"Me? You're  just going to _abandon_ me?"

Connor sighed. "I'm sorry, but Johnny's got to be back in school on January 5th. We're scheduled to fly out the day after New Year's."

"Amanda and I are due back in Toronto to meet a client on the 27th," Nick added.

"Julian?"

"I have appointments in Paris, but I don't have to leave here until the 27th," Julian replied. "That's five days from now. If he remains stable till then, he should hold out for another week. I'll come down on the 4th and we'll perform the C-section." He squeezed Duncan's shoulder reassuringly. "Grace will be here, and I'm sure Richie can help...somehow. I've fitted Adam with a special monitor as well."

"Oh, he'll love _that_ ," Duncan said ironically. "I can just imagine the complaints."

"Bloody hell!" came his voice from the library, right on cue. "Not only do I _look_ like a sodding whale, now I have a _tracking_ device like one!"

Duncan winced and Connor stood up. "I'll go placate the rampaging beast and make sure he's settled on the couch. You eat your lunch. I think you're going to need your strength."

"I'll come with you, in case tranquilizers are needed," Julian said.

"Isn't that dangerous for the babies?" Connor asked as he and Julian left the room.

Julian grinned. "They're not for Adam. They're for us."

Duncan opened the fridge and pulled out a beer to go with his sandwich. He had a feeling he'd need to be tranquilized, too.

Nick looked over at him, a curious look on his face. "MacLeod, can I ask you something?"

Duncan took a swallow of beer and looked at Nick. "All right."

"I'm having a hard time understanding this," Nick said hesitantly. "You and Adam, I mean. Not that I have anything against gays, but, well, Amanda's talked about you a lot, and I've heard stories about the women in your life, so..."

"So what am I doing, married to a man? Especially one who's carrying my children?" Duncan asked, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

Nick nodded. "Is it the baby thing? You know, getting him knocked up?"

"And me doing the 'honorable thing' by marrying him?" Duncan shook his head. "Not entirely. I admit that having a family is a strong draw for me, and if this hadn't happened, Adam and I might have had an off-and-on romance, but I don't know if we would have gotten married. And I would have missed out on so much. Being with Adam like this has been the greatest experience of my life. In fact, the few times we've been apart since marrying have been...painful."

Nick frowned. "But isn't that partly because of your need to protect him and the children? Grace says that's part of the bond."

"A part, but not all of it. I really enjoy being with Adam, no matter what mood he's in, no matter the arguments. Loving him and being loved in return is more than worth it."

"Even knowing that one day one of you might die? Or be forced to kill the other?"

Duncan's face shadowed, but he said firmly, "Even then. How is that any different from anyone else in the world? Any day, something can happen to the one you love, taking them from you forever."

Nick looked thoughtful, but anything he was going to say was interrupted when Amanda and Alexandra came into the kitchen, both wearing their coats.

"We're going into town, to do some last minute Christmas shopping," Amanda announced, and held out her hand. "Keys?"

Nick looked doubtful. "Are you sure? With all the snow we had yesterday..."

"It'll be fine," Amanda said reassuringly. "The snow stopped; we didn't get nearly as much here as up north." She gestured impatiently. "Keys. Unless you want to come with us?"

"I will," Richie said from the door. "I need to get a couple more things.  We can take Adam's car. It's better equipped for the snow."

"I'll have your head if you put it in a ditch," Methos called from the study.

Richie turned his head and looked at Methos, who was ensconced on the couch and looking very unhappy about it. "You mean like _you_ did, the first weekend we came down here?"

Methos scowled at him. "Take the keys and get out of here."

Richie grinned and looked back at Duncan. "Anything you need, Mac?"

Duncan shook his head. "I'm fine. I'll walk you out to the car, though," he said, pulling his new coat off the coat rack. "I need to check the generator, in case we have a blizzard and lose power." He pulled on his coat as he walked over to his husband, and knelt on the floor next to the couch. "You okay?" he asked softly.

Methos made a face. "Other than the bed rest part? I'm fine; there's no need to hover." He glanced up at Connor. "Or you, either. Why don't you go kick Mac's arse for a couple hours?"

Connor laughed and looked at Duncan. "What do you say, cousin? Up for a little arse-kicking?"

Duncan grinned. "Maybe I'll kick yours instead. I owe you one for last time."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Would you two get out of here before all the testosterone in the air makes me nauseous?" Duncan hesitated and Methos pushed at him. "Go on. You can't hover over me for two weeks, Mac. It'll drive us nuts. Grace and Julian and Joe are here, and they'll call you on the intercom if there's a problem."

Duncan nodded. "All right."

There was a flurry of activity in the front hall as everyone donned heavy coats, searched out keys, and prepared to go their separate ways. Johnny came thundering through and, given the choice of shopping or watching the fighting practice, opted to go with Connor and Duncan.

The door shut behind them and Methos savored the silence for a long moment...until he realized he was thirsty and didn't have anyone to fetch for him. He sat up and looked around.

"Julian? Joe?"

There was no reply. Not scenting any of his watchdogs, he awkwardly struggled to his feet and started towards the kitchen.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Methos jumped and, clutching his chest, turned to glare at Julian. "Don't _do_ that to me! You nearly gave me heart failure!"

"I'll give you more than heart failure if you don't get back on that couch right this minute."

"Don't tell me: this thing has a motion detector, too," Methos said, gesturing at the monitor strapped to his abdomen.

"No, I just have a built-in 'Methos-is-up-to-something' detector." Julian watched his patient settle back down and then checked the monitor. "Everything looks good, and lucky for you. What did you think you were doing?"

"I was thirsty, and everyone's abandoned me," Methos complained. "I was just going to the kitchen to get water."

"You can just stay there and _ask_ someone to get it for you," Julian said. He looked around. "By the way, where'd everyone go?"

"Amanda, Alex, Richie, and Nick went shopping in town. The MacLeod twins went out to the salle to practice, and John went with them. I think Joe went to catch a nap."

"I'll make sure that you don't get left completely alone again," Julian said. "Not unless you want to deliver, right here, right now."

"Don't tempt me," Methos muttered, rubbing his swollen belly.

Julian sighed and sat down on the coffee table so he could look Methos in the eye. "Methos my friend, you know the situation as well as I do. Every day those babies remain inside you is one more day for them to develop a little more. They're going to have a tough enough time beating all the other odds against them. They need every advantage they can get."

Methos sighed, dropping his head back against the arm of the couch. "I _know_ , Juls, but knowing doesn't make it any easier." He gave an amused snort. "Just yesterday, I was telling Mac I was reluctant for them to be born. And now, all I can think about is getting this over with."

Julian smiled sympathetically. "I don't know of any pregnant mother - "

"Hey! Watch who you're calling a mother!" Methos said with a mock-glare.

" - who wasn't ready to have it over with by the last month." Julian squeezed Methos' hand. "Let me get you that drink and then I'll give you a back rub. How does that sound?"

"Like a bribe for good behavior."

"I suppose you're above taking bribes?"

"Hell, no!" Methos said, grinning. "That's Mac. Personally, I think bribery is an essential part of a civilized society."

"Let me guess: you invented bribes."

"No but I dated the sister of the man who did."

Julian snorted and cuffed Methos lightly. "Brat. I'll be right back."

"Hey, Juls!" Methos called after him. "What if I have to take a piss? Which I have to do about every hour."

"I'll get you a chamber pot," came the reply from the kitchen, "just like the good old days."

Methos sighed. "It's going to be a helluva long two weeks."

* * *

 

The pillow under Duncan's head was kicking him.

Not that he minded. In fact, he could feel a smile forming on his face, what Richie would have called 'goofy', his cousin Connor would deride as besotted, and Amanda would label as 'cute'. Oddly enough, he didn't mind those labels at all. Which, he supposed, proved that Connor was right.

The pillow under him shifted slightly and he pressed his lips against the warm flesh. "Morning," he said softly.

He heard a snort from somewhere above his head. "If you're quite finished talking to my belly, Mac..."

Duncan grinned and opened his eyes to glance up at his lover's exasperated face, even as his fingers took his place against the rounded flesh. "Something you needed?" he asked.

"Other than having my head examined?" Methos asked dryly. "I _could_ use a little help up. Nature is bellowing."

Duncan chuckled and, with one last kiss, sat up so he could assist his gravid spouse in sitting up. Methos was in fine form this morning, he thought with amusement. He worked his way into the bathrobe Duncan held up, groaned as he pushed himself up from the bed, and groused about the cold floor as he shuffled his way into the bathroom. Duncan couldn't help grinning as he propped himself up against the headboard and watched Methos go through his early morning routine of stretching and scratching before disappearing into the next room. Methos-watching was one of his favorite activities.

Methos came back into the room and rolled his eyes as he caught the look on Duncan's face. "You need to get a hobby."

"I already have one," Duncan replied, lifting the covers invitingly. "Come back to bed and I'll warm up your feet."

Methos gave him a speculative look. " _Just_ my feet?"

"Now, you know what Julian said. Best rest and no fooling around for the next two weeks."

"Spoilsport," Methos grumbled, but he shed his robe and crawled back into bed. Duncan grimaced as the icy cold feet branded his legs but set about rubbing some warmth into the chilled flesh.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mmm." Methos rolled over and propped himself on an elbow. "So, you planning on telling me why you were communing with my stomach at this ungodly hour of the morning."

"It's Christmas."

Methos raised an eyebrow. "That's a tradition I've never heard about."

Duncan chuckled and wrapped his arms around Methos, pulling him down to rest alongside Duncan's body. "Pain in the ass," he said affectionately, soothing his words by kissing Methos. "I was just thinking."

He was prepared for a sarcastic remark, so when Methos said, quietly, "Good thoughts, I hope," he looked down at him in surprise.

"I was thinking about how different things will be next year." He rubbed his hand over the prominent bulge of his lover's abdomen.

Methos nodded. "They'll be crawling, getting into everything, eating anything they find on the floor... Come to think of it, it won't be that much different than having Richie around."

"Behave," Duncan said, lightly smacking his ass.

"And then all the Christmases to come: hunting down the 'must-have' toy of the year, spending a fortune just to have them ignore the toy and play with the box it came in. Those scary words 'batteries not included' and 'some assembly required'," Methos continued. "Sticky fingers touching everything, not to mention dealing with sugar buzzes. Taking them to see Santa and waiting for hours, only to have the guy go on break when you reach the front of the line. Eating stale cookies and drinking warm milk so they'll think Santa came."

Duncan put his fingers over Methos' mouth, silencing him. "Scrooge," he teased. "I was thinking about the *good* parts. Their faces when they see the tree all lit up. The almost unbearable excitement, waiting for Christmas day. The happiness on their faces as they unwrap their presents." He sighed contentedly. "Christmas is really for children."

The corners of Methos' mouth curved upward in a smile. "Children and sentimental Scots," he corrected. "All right, I'll promise to try not to be a Scrooge, but _you're_ assembling bicycles and doll houses." He closed his eyes, determined to get a little more sleep before the rest of the household woke.

Duncan smiled and pressed a kiss against Methos' hair. Considering what else he got with the deal, he thought he could live with that. Besides, how bad could it be?

 

* * *

 

Duncan stared out the living room windows and up at the sky. Despite the fact that the sun had set hours earlier, the heavy cloud cover made the sky seem lighter than normal, gray instead of black. It made Duncan feel uneasy, and it didn't help that the meteorologists agreed with his centuries of experience: snow was on the way.

It was four days after Christmas and most of his extended clan had scattered - just in time to avoid the coming storm. At present, only Grace, Richie, Connor, Alex and Johnny remained at Les Tardes, although Richie was gearing up to go into town.

"I don't know if it's such a good idea, Richie, going out tonight. The weather reports say we're in for a hell of a storm."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Mac, I'm _Immortal_. A storm's not gonna do a hell of a lot of damage to me. Besides, I've got a date."

"Let the boy go, Duncan," Connor advised from his comfortable sprawl in front of the fireplace. "A touch of frostbite will do wonders for his attitude. Worst thing that could happen is that we end up thawing out his body in the spring."

Richie rolled his eyes at the older Scot. "Thanks a lot, Connor!" He pulled on his jacket and grabbed his keys and helmet. "Bye, Mac! And don't wait up."

Duncan rolled his eyes at the smug tone in his voice, but Richie was already out the door. He looked at his kinsman. "A lot of help _you_ are."

Connor shrugged. "He's young."

"He's an idiot."

"Must be talking about Rich," Methos said sleepily. Duncan glanced over at the couch and smiled fondly. Methos' hair was tousled from his impromptu nap, his eyes only half-open, and there was an imprint on his cheek from the pattern on the sofa cushion. Duncan thought he'd never seen him look more adorable.

"Yeah. He just took off out of here on a date, of all things. In this weather," Duncan said, gesturing out at the lowering sky.

"Where's the rest of the clan?" Methos asked, awkwardly shifting to his other side. He grimaced as he tried to get comfortable and realized his bladder was full again. "Mac -- help?"

Duncan hurried forward to help him off the couch, ignoring Connor's amused snort, and escorted him into the bathroom. "Alex is making dinner, Grace is taking a nap, and Johnny went to call his girlfriend an hour ago. It's a safe bet that he's still on the phone."

Methos laughed and shook his head as he settled on the toilet. "I'd hate to see Connor's phone bill. I think John's called her every day."

"Twice on Christmas," Duncan agreed. "The joys of parenthood."

"As we'll soon discover for ourselves." Methos struggled back to his feet.

"Nothing new for you." Duncan helped Methos reassemble his clothes and propped him up as he washed, then guided him back toward the living room. He felt a wistful sadness at the thought that they wouldn't be sharing any true "firsts" of parenthood.

"Well, the last time I did this, phones hadn't been invented," Methos remarked. "Not to mention cars, the Internet, designer jeans _or_ designer drugs." He smirked at Duncan. "Just think what we have to look forward to."

"Oh, that makes me feel a _whole_ lot better," Duncan said, easing his spouse back down on the couch. Duncan rubbed his own back as he complained, "How on earth do you keep putting on weight when you hardly eat anything?"

Connor rolled his eyes. "Duncan, _never_ tell your spouse that they're putting on weight! You'll be lucky if you get sex again for a month!"

Duncan snorted and settled in the chair next to Methos. "According to Methos, it'll be longer than _that_."

Connor grinned. "Already started in on the 'you did this to me, you bastard' routine, has he? Duncan, my lad, he has you so whipped..."

Duncan flipped Connor off, then glanced down at Methos to find that he was asleep again. "He does that a lot lately," he said, worried.

"Storing up sleep for later. God knows you won't get any after the babies are born. Speaking of which, I want you to call me as soon as they're here," Connor reminded him. "And pictures. Alex and I will want pictures."

"I'll get you pictures," Duncan said, amused at Connor's insistence, but warmed by his kinsman's genuine interest. He was going to miss Connor when he returned home. "I wish you could be here when they're born."

Connor sighed. "So do I, but we'll be back for the christening."

Duncan nodded but he couldn't help feeling a little bereft. He'd grown up with the idea that kin were important, that all the major events of one's life - birth, marriage, death - were shared with them. Knowing Connor wouldn't be there to share in the birth of his children just felt...wrong somehow.

"Stop brooding," Methos said sleepily, not opening his eyes.

Duncan glared at him. "How do you know I'm brooding? You've got your eyes closed!"

"I can sense the brooding vibrations, moving through the air, permeating everything."

Duncan whapped Methos gently on the ass. "I'll give you brooding vibrations."

"Ow!" Methos complained. "You're my witness, Connor. I'm being abused by him."

Connor snorted. "In my opinion, the lad doesn't abuse you nearly enough."

"That's not what you said the other night." Methos opened his eyes to dart a mischievous look at Connor.

"I said _use_ , not _abuse_ ," Connor said. "There's a difference." He glanced at Duncan. "At least there should be, if you're doing it right."

Duncan gave an outraged snort. "Are you casting aspersions on my romantic technique?"

"Lad, I've seen better technique..." Connor began, then frowned as he caught the pained look on Methos' face. "Are you all right?"

Methos nodded as he breathed in deeply and rubbed his belly with his hands. "False labor. Don't worry; Julian's got me wired and he's watching the monitor like a hawk. He'll let us know if it's anything else." The contractions eased up, and he sighed in relief. "I wish I could walk. It helps when they're like this."

"I thought you hated walking," Duncan said. "All last week you bitched about the mileage you were putting on your trainers."

"I hate lying here, doing nothing, even more," Methos said. He rubbed the base of his spine with a hand. "My back hurts like hell. Even the yoga stretches aren't helping any more."

"Serves you right," Duncan said but he sat down so he could rub the offending muscles. "Waking me up in the middle of the night..."

"The baseboards were dirty.".

"And you needed me to clean them at four in the morning?"

"Our babies aren't living in a dirty house, Duncan MacLeod!"

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Methos, the babies won't be able to focus their eyes for _weeks_! They won't know _or_ care if the damn baseboards are dirty!"

" _I'll_ know.  I would have cleaned them myself, but you wouldn't let me get out of bed."

"Damn right, I wouldn't! What part of 'complete bed rest' don't you understand?" Duncan gave him an exasperated look.

Connor frowned. "Methos wanted to clean the house in the middle of the night?"

"I know," Duncan said, grinning. "Boggles the mind, doesn't it?"

"Just a bit," Connor said slowly, his eyes on Methos' face. He'd grown up among a close-knit clan and his mother had delivered many of the Clan's babies, so he knew the signs. And they were saying that Methos was "nesting" and the babies would be coming soon, whatever Julian's little gadget thought. The contractions didn't seem to repeat so Connor relaxed a little. He didn't say anything, not wanting to alarm Duncan, but resolved to keep an eye on Methos.

The door suddenly burst open and Richie hurtled into the room, followed by a swirl of snowflakes. "Horrible blizzard just north of here," he gasped out. "Trains stuck...just outside Tours. Thousands of people stranded...trapped. Need volunteers..."

Duncan was on his feet in an instant, telling Richie to fetch Grace, and then he and Connor were running for their coats.

 

* * *

 

Richie flipped through the TV channels then tossed the remote onto the couch beside Methos. "A million channels and there's nothing decent on. Just weather reports, weather updates, weather bulletins...you'd think the French had a jones for the weather."

"It's on a lot of people's minds," Methos said, looking out the window.

The sky was gray as lead.  Methos hoped there wouldn't be any more of the heavy snow that had blanketed the area for the past two days. The frigid temperatures were bad enough: Duncan was out in it, checking on the poor and elderly who'd been hardest hit by the worst cold snap in a decade.

Connor and Alex had been out earlier in the day, helping with the relief effort, and were resting upstairs now. Grace was down at La Roche-Posay's emergency shelter, helping the medical personnel cope with the thousands of travelers stranded in towns throughout the area, caught when the rails had iced over, making France's entire western rail system inoperable.

When Duncan and Grace returned in an hour to get some rest, John and Richie planned to take their turn, distributing food at the shelter while Connor baby-sat Methos. Methos made a face. Of all times to be incapacitated, when the relief workers needed all the extra hands they could get.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather think of something other than the weather, if you don't mind." Richie shuddered, trying to forget the images of the homeless people he and Duncan had found, frozen in doorways and alleys. That had hit a little too close to home for him.

"There's the new DVD Mac got," Methos offered, gesturing towards the case displaying "Gone With the Wind" in vibrant colors.

Richie picked it up and, seeing the title, snorted as he tossed it back down. "You have _got_ to be kidding. Watching that would be too much like being in history class again. _Which_ I hated."

"Figures," Methos murmured. "Well, we could have a rousing game of chess - for all of the 30 seconds it would take for me to beat you."

"Hey!" Richie protested.

"Or we could raid the refrigerator and pilfer the festive goodies Mac stocked up on. I doubt anyone's going to feel up to celebrating the New Year tonight." Methos turned off the TV.

"Pilfer? Is that like pillage?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Not even in the same zip code, kid."

"I'm not hungry yet," Richie said. "Maybe later. What else?"

"What, am I here to amuse you? _I'm_ the one who's been stuck on this bloody sofa for a sodding week!"

Richie grinned. "And you've been such a good sport about it, too. I've only heard you threaten to emasculate Mac twice. A day."

Methos glared. "I could make it a double-header, if you'd like."

Richie winced and crossed his legs. "Thanks, I'm fine."

"I had a feeling you'd feel that way." Methos ignored the tightening in his abdomen as he'd been doing most of the afternoon, cursing the damn false-labor pains. If he could walk they'd go away, but none of his watchdogs would let him get up.

"Speaking of which, you aren't armed right now, are you?"

"Worried?" Methos asked. "You saw Mac frisk me before he left."

"I've seen him frisk you every day, and you _still_ keep coming up with new weapons. Where do they _come_ from? And _why_ do you keep getting them?"

Methos shrugged. "I hate feeling defenseless."

Richie snorted. "You are the _least_ defenseless man I've ever known. Even flat on your back and big as a whale, you have everyone tip-toeing around you. If any Immortal was stupid enough to break in here, despite the security system and being on Holy Ground, it's _them_ I'd feel sorry for."

Methos chuckled. "Nice to know I still have it. I'm afraid..." He paused, suddenly distracted by a feeling of warm wetness spreading through his pants. "...that I've either messed up the couch, or my water has broken."

"Eww!" Richie said, making a face. "TMI, Methos. I could have lived without hearing that."

"Then you're going to love hearing this part. I  think I'm in labor."

"What?!" Richie sat bolt upright. "You can't be! It's too soon...Mac's not here...I don't know anything about delivering babies!"

Methos rolled his eyes. "I thought you didn't even _like_ that movie and now you're quoting it? Would you mind getting some help?"

"Right," Richie said. He tumbled out of the chair, scrambled for the intercom, and pressed the code for Connor's room. "Connor! Wake up! Connor"

There was a growl from the other end.  "Richie. I've had 3 hours sleep. This had better be damned important."

"Methos is having a baby!" Richie said urgently.

There was a sigh from Connor. "Yes, Richie, I know. Two of them. He's been pregnant for 9 months."

"Now! He's having them _now_!"

"What?!" Richie could tell he had Connor's full attention now. "Are you sure? Maybe it's false labor. How does he look?"

Richie turned to look at Methos, who was sitting with one hand on his belly, an intent and oddly contented look on his face. "Like...oh shit, he looks like one of those Madonna pictures, peaceful with a stupid smile on his face." He shuddered. "He's freaking me out, Connor."

"Shit! I'll be right down."

Richie turned back to Methos. "Okay, so we'd better call Mac. Or should we call Julian first? Grace can probably get here faster..." Methos pushed himself off the couch and headed for the phone. "What in hell are you doing?"

"By the time you decide who to call, the twins will be in preschool." Methos picked up the phone and punched in a speed dial number.

"You're not supposed to be up!"

Methos gave him a Look. "Richie, that was to keep me from going into labor. Since I'm already _in_ labor, it doesn't matter any more."

"What do you mean, you're in labor?" came Julian's voice on the phone. "You can't be in labor. The EFM transmission looks normal."

"Then you need to get it fixed because my water just broke. I'm having contractions..." Methos paused, breathing slowly through another one. "...about five minutes apart."

"Damn!" Julian muttered. "The trains are still out of service and the roads are a mess. Let me talk to Grace."

"Grace is at the emergency shelter."

"So who's there with you?"

"Richie." Methos winced at the sudden blast in his ear. "He's not _that_ bad."

Julian snorted. "Right. Tell me he didn't panic when you told him you were in labor."

Methos grinned. "All right, I'll give you that one. Connor's here, too. Or will be, as soon as he gets dressed." Connor rushed into the room, clothes half on. "Speak of the devil."

"Let me talk to him for a minute. Do you think Richie can help you get settled in the delivery room? I want them to run a scan and send it to me immediately."

"No problem." He handed the phone to Connor, mouthing "Julian" at him. "Come along, Richie. You get to play Dr. Schweitzer today."

"Who?"

Methos rolled his eyes and led the way to the delivery room. He paused in the doorway and involuntarily shuddered. With no light coming in from the small window, the room looked even darker and smaller than usual. Small, and crowded with odd shapes. He switched on the lights and winced under the sudden glare.  It made things even worse, revealing the sterile medical equipment under the stark white light. Deliberately not thinking about it, he led the way over to the medical cabinet, gesturing for Richie to follow him.

When Connor joined them, Methos was sitting on the table showing Richie how to fasten the Doppler monitor around his swollen abdomen. Connor checked the placement, put the transmitter into the phone cradle, then started up the machine. He ran it long enough to catch Methos in another contraction before disconnecting, then called Julian back.

"Well?"

"Methos is in labor," Julian said shortly.

"What can we do?"

"Try to keep him calm for now and get him to relax. We won't be able to stop it but we can slow it down. I'm going to go pull some strings, find a way to get there. In the meantime, find Grace and MacLeod. Grace has read all the files and knows what to do if I can't make it."

"Will do." Connor disconnected and turned to Methos, frowning as he saw that the pregnant Immortal was looking around the room anxiously. He seemed on the verge of panicking. "Methos?"

"I don't want to be here," Methos said, sitting up as he pulled his clothes together. "Where's Duncan?"

"In town, but I'm going to call him right now. Are you going to be all right?"

"Are you _insane_?" Methos snarled at him, and Connor took a step back in surprise. "I'm in _labor_. _Neither_ of my doctors is here. My _husband_ isn't here. And I. Don't. Want. To. Be. In. Here."

Before either Connor or Richie could move, Methos was off the table and heading toward the door. Richie hurried after him, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Meth- "

Richie didn't have a chance to even finish saying his name before Methos had him pinned to the wall, left arm across his throat, a wicked looking knife in his right hand.

"Don't. Touch. Me," Methos hissed at him, bringing the knife threateningly close.

"Right," Richie said, eying the knife as it hovered near his throat, wondering how Mac had missed it in the morning frisk; it looked like a fucking broadsword from this angle. "Got it.  No touching. You - you mind putting that away?"

Methos looked over a Connor, keeping the blade at Richie's throat. "I'm not staying in here," he said flatly.

His eyes flicked around the room, as if looking for escape. Connor had seen that look before, in miners who'd been trapped in cave-ins.

"It's okay," he said soothingly, holding up his empty hands to show he was no threat. "Why don't we go to the spring? You'd like a nice, relaxing soak, wouldn't you? It'd help those muscles relax until one of the doctors gets here."

Methos considered this for a moment, then caught his breath on a gasp as another contraction hit.

Richie anxiously watched the knife hover near his throat and said, "Relax, man. Why don't you try that breathing thing?" He panted in demonstration. "Come on, you try it."

Methos looked at him, exasperated. "Richie, that only works in _transition_ labor." The pain of the contraction had focused Methos' attention back on the here-and-now, and he was vaguely surprised to find a knife in his hand. He carefully sheathed it and looked over at Connor. "You said something about the spring."

Connor nodded, keeping a cautious watch on Methos' face. "I think it might help. Richie, why don't you go with Methos? I'm going to make a few calls."

Richie was nervous about being with a laboring Immortal who was clearly _not_ in his right mind. "What if he has more contractions? Or they get closer together?"

Connor grinned. "Well, you seemed to have that breathing thing down pat." Richie looked at him, exasperated. "I'm sure you can manage for a few minutes."

Richie glared at Connor and then turned to guide Methos to the hallway Duncan had built to connect the house to the spring. Connor punched in the number for Duncan's cell phone, hoping his cousin had it with him. After three rings, he heard Duncan answer.

"Duncan, it's Connor. Where are you?"

"Canvassing the older neighborhoods," he answered. "Why?"

"I need you to find Grace and come back to the house. It's time."

"Time for what?"

Connor snorted. "Time for the _bairns,_ ya daft imbecile!"

"Time for...It can't be! It's too soon - Julian isn't here! "

"Babies have their own timetable, usually when it's most inconvenient."

"We need to call Julian."

"I already did and he confirmed that Methos is in labor. He's going to try his best to get here, but in the meantime, we need Grace."

"In labor?" Duncan said, stunned. "I never expected...how is he?"

Connor ran his fingers through his hair. "You know how these things go, Duncan. He's uncomfortable but not in serious pain yet. Richie took him to the springs, to help him relax."

"The springs?" Duncan asked, surprised. "Shouldn't he be in the delivery room?"

"He had a bad reaction in there. I think he's been entombed at least once in his past. And the contractions are five minutes apart, which means we've got lots of time. But the sooner you and Grace can get back here, the better he'll feel. He's already asking for you."

"I'm on my way to the clinic to pick up Grace, and we'll be there as soon as we can."

"Good. I need to go check on them, make sure Methos hasn't drowned Richie yet. Drive carefully, okay? We don't need to dig you out of a snow bank, on top of everything else."

He heard Duncan laugh. "Yes, _Dad_."

 

* * *

 

Duncan skidded into the cavern-like room containing the warm spring and looked around. Someone had turned on all the lights and the soft glow from the fixtures set into the rough-hewn walls of the spring illuminated the room. He looked anxiously for his spouse and found him in the spring itself. Methos had stripped down to boxers and a T-shirt and was submerged in the water up to his chest with his eyes closed. He looked oddly content for someone in labor, and Duncan guessed that the buoyancy of the water combined with its warmth was very soothing. Not unlike being back in the womb itself, he thought.  He kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his coat, and headed into the water without a thought for the rest of his clothes.

"Methos, are you all right?"

Methos opened his eyes with a sigh and stood up. "I feel like the next victim in 'Alien', watching my belly ripple. My back feels like someone with cleats is walking up and down it. I could use a beer and all they'll give me is ice chips. Other than that..." He caught his breath as another contraction hit and tried to breathe normally through it. "So, how was _your_ day, dear?" he asked, a little breathlessly, when he could talk again.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Duncan said, wrapping his arms around as much of Methos as he could manage.

Methos gave him a suspicious look. "You only call me that when you're trying to talk me into doing something."

"I'm not, honestly," Duncan said, rubbing his knuckles down Methos' spine in the way he knew his lover liked. "I'm just worried. This wasn't in the plan." The plan had called for a C-section in a few days, not natural delivery right now. Despite his teasing about Methos giving birth, Duncan hadn't meant it, and the thought of Methos in pain tore at his gut.

"Relax," Connor said, and Duncan looked over to see him sitting on the side of the pool. "It's going to be a long night and it won't help if we're  stressed out at the start. Where's Grace?"

"Getting her bag. She'll be here shortly." Duncan cuddled Methos. "Warm enough?"

"I am now."

Duncan grinned at that and knew he had a sappy look on his face from his cousin's snort, but he didn't care. Knowing that he was of help to his spouse in even the smallest way was much more important. "When did they start?"

"Sometime this afternoon. I thought they were just false labor pains, but it certainly feels like the real thing." He caught his breath as another one started.

Duncan glanced over at Connor who was looking at his watch. "Three minutes," the older Scot said. "I'd say he's in active labor now. Doesn't want anyone to touch him, except you."

Duncan nodded, then turned his attention back to Methos who had his eyes closed and was breathing deeply in and out. The worst of it appeared to be passing, and Methos opened his eyes with a last shuddering breath.

"Hell of a way to bring in the New Year," he muttered.

"Oh, I don't know," Duncan said, nuzzling Methos' neck as he rubbed his back. "Seems somehow appropriate. New year, new life."

"I agree," Grace said, coming into the cavern with her bag. Richie and Alex followed carrying glasses and a bottle of champagne. "I think this calls for a celebration. It'll also help everyone relax and slow down the labor."

"I like the way you think, Doctor," Connor said. He opened the champagne while Grace walked down into the pool. She handed her bag to Duncan, pulled out her stethoscope, and crouched so she could listen to the heartbeats.

"They both sound just fine, hearts beating normally, which is good news," she said after a few minutes.

Methos frowned. "And the bad news?"

"The bad news is that this is my first time," Grace said frankly. "Not delivering babies, of course, but delivering one for a male patient."

"It's pretty much a new situation for all of us," Connor pointed out, wading in to hand Duncan a glass of champagne. Duncan held it for Methos to take a sip, then drank a little himself.

 "Which _could_ be good news," Grace added, "since I don't have many preconceptions about this whole process."

"I don't understand," Duncan said.

"I've just recently noticed a pattern in the records that worries me. Of the dozen recorded Immortal pregnancies, all but one of the female-hosted ones went well. Their children contributed significantly to our world through their work as spiritual leaders, inventors, artists, writers, and such. However, in all but one of the _male_ -hosted pregnancies, there were...problems with the resultant offspring."

"Problems?" Duncan said, alarmed. "What kind of problems?"

"I suppose you could call them personality flaws," Grace said. "Sociopathic qualities. All seemed to be unnaturally aggressive, as well as having a thirst to dominate those around them. It's as if they were...missing something."

Methos saw Duncan pale and snapped, "This is a hell of a time to bring this up."

She met his eyes squarely. "I just discovered it and I don't think Julian has even noticed the trend, or the common factor between these 'problem children'. I was going to discuss it when he came down next weekend, to present what I've discovered to him and the two of you."

"And what, exactly, did you discover?" Methos asked.

"One baby with a female birth parent, and three of the babies with male birth parents, show these sociopathic tendencies. The common factor between all four is that they were delivered by C-section," Grace said. "However, there was another child with a male birth parent, delivered without C-section, who grew up to become a powerful wizard as well as a good Immortal." Grace glanced over at Connor. "Connor was his student for a while."

"My second teacher, Nakano," Connor said quietly, his eyes fixed on Grace. "I already knew he was a Quickening child, but I don't think he knew all the particulars. His parents had died centuries before I met him."

"Why didn't Julian say anything?" 

"I don't think he's noticed the pattern," Grace said. " _I_ didn't see it until recently, when I was going over the records, preparing for next weekend. Plus, Julian is a surgeon and no doubt C-section seems the right thing for him to do. It's how he delivered his first male-hosted baby."

"And that one went bad?" Duncan asked.

Grace smiled. "For a time. I suppose you could say that he eventually saw the light."

Duncan's eyes widened. "Julian _delivered_ Darius? Darius was a Quickening baby?"

Grace nodded, then looked at Methos who had a slight frown on his face. "If you don't believe me, ask Methos. He's known most of the Quickening children at some point in their lives."

Duncan and Connor's heads turned towards Methos and he said slowly, "There _is_ a pattern, I suppose. Kronos' mother was beheaded and he was ripped out of her body. I always thought that oxygen deprivation or the unusual violence of his birth was the reason..."

" _Kronos_ was a Quickening baby, too?" Duncan asked. "Any of the other Horsemen?"

"No, but the Kurgan was, also born of male parents," Methos said absently.

"My God," Duncan breathed, feeling suddenly sick. "Some of the most violent Immortals ever were Quickening babies."

"So were the first Dali Lama and Merlin," Methos pointed out. "We're not all monsters."

"'We're'," Connor echoed. "You mean you are one?"

Methos shrugged. "Julian thinks so but there's no way to prove it, just circumstantial evidence." He stopped talking as another contraction hit.

"Following a C-section," Grace continued, "normal Immortal healing immediately kicked in, except in the case of Kronos' mother, of course. Since the birthing parents returned to a pre-pregnancy state, they weren't lactating so were unable to nurse the baby. They never bonded with the baby; in fact, they seemed unable to connect with the child at all, causing some pretty dysfunctional family units."

"You think that's important," Duncan said.

Grace nodded. "Researchers say it's important for a child's development for it to bond with someone when young. I think, with Quickening babies, it's essential for them to bond with the birthing parent."

"In other words, you want me to have these babies the natural way," Methos said.

"Yes."

Methos sighed. "You're forgetting that we don't even know _how_ Nakano's birth parent was able to deliver him. _Or_ that he actually did!"

"Methos," Grace said patiently, "there has to be _some_ way for the child to be born naturally, probably the same way it was conceived. Nature wouldn't come up with this incredible situation and not have a way to resolve it."

"You'd be surprised what Nature would do," Methos muttered.

"Just give it a try. If it doesn't appear to be working, we can always operate."

Methos imagined himself in that small, enclosed room, sedated for surgery and helpless.  He shuddered and nodded his agreement.

"Good," said Grace, smiling reassuring at Duncan and Methos. "Connor, can you organize the others," she said, gesturing towards Alex and Richie, "and gather supplies? I want to set up a small medical bay there," she said, indicating the corner, "in case we have to operate. I expect you know the routine. I'll take a look at Methos, see how things are coming along."

Connor nodded and hurried off, and Grace looked expectantly at Methos. He stared back blankly at her and she sighed. "This'll work better if you get undressed. And you might want to hurry, before the others get back."

"Wonderful," Methos muttered, and started stripping off his sodden clothing.

 

* * *

 

"You need a helicopter to take you to La Roche-Posay?" Robert de Valincourt asked over the phone, the disbelief in his voice clear. "In this weather? You are insane."

Julian sighed and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "It's an emergency, Robert," he said entreatingly. "I've tried everyone in the book and no one's willing to take me."

Robert snorted. "And I don't blame them!"

"You're my last hope. It is _imperative_ that I get to Les Tardes."

"Why?" Robert asked suspiciously.

"Let's just say it's a medical emergency," Julian said evasively.

There was silence on the other end of the phone and Julian waited resignedly for Robert's refusal or more questions. To his surprise, Robert said, "All right. But I'll fly you there myself. I'm not going to risk any of my mortal pilots on this fool-hardy trip."

"Thanks, Robert," Julian said gratefully. "I'll be there in an hour." He disconnected and rapidly dialed the number to Les Tardes, to let them know that he was on the way.

 

* * *

 

"Let's move into the shallower end," Grace said once Methos had stripped, and he awkwardly moved that way. Duncan helped him, looking over at the corner of the pool they were heading toward. Connor's team had brought in the portable lights from the delivery room and set them up in that corner of the cavern. Folding screens had been put up to partially shield the rest of the cave from the bright glare, but he could see the two incubators, a portable bed, and a table full of medical paraphernalia. The sight brought home to him just how real this was. Methos was having the babies.

"Shouldn't we move into the delivery room?" Duncan asked.

Grace looked at Methos. "Do I have any chance of getting you back in that room?"

"Hell, no," he said promptly, then grimaced as another contraction began.

Grace patted Duncan's hand and said, "If I have to, I'll knock him out and we can carry him into the delivery room, but I'd rather not stress either Methos or the babies if I can help it. He'll be fine here. The way these babies are presenting, he won't be able to lie down comfortably. A squatting position will be easier."

"You're not suggesting he give birth right here?" Duncan said, gesturing at the pool.

"Why not? The purification system you put in makes the water quite safe. Water births are actually becoming quite popular: more relaxing for the mother and less stressful for the baby. The originator of the idea is from France."

"Fascinating," Methos managed to grind out, "but what the hell has that to do with me?"

"I'll tell you as soon as I check you over. Bend forward. Duncan, brace him, please." The doctor carefully checked the anal opening, noting the increasing elasticity of the muscles and tissues. As she had theorized, Methos' body was adapting to the birthing process although not as easily as a woman's body would have. The narrowness of his pelvis concerned her, but she'd dealt with narrow hips before, just never on a male patient. Truth be told, she wasn't sure exactly how this was going to work, but she just had a strong inner feeling that this was _right_ , the way it was supposed to be done.

"How long have you been having contractions?" she asked.

"Most of the afternoon. I thought it was just false labor until the water..." Methos stopped speaking to ride out another contraction. "Bloody hell, they're getting closer together."

"It appears that you're in the last stages of active labor," Grace said, gesturing for Methos to stand up and move back into the deeper water. "You don't have a cervix to dilate as a woman would, but you _are_ loosening up. Since one of the sacs has already ruptured, we need to let the labor continue. Of course, that also means we can't give you an enema since we don't want to risk injuring them."

"I can't tell you how sorry I am to hear that," Methos said sarcastically.

"Are you sure he can deliver them?" Duncan asked anxiously. "It can't possibly be big enough for a baby."

"You'd be surprised how flexible the anal passage can be," Grace said, covering her own worries so she could present a reassuring front. "I've read about men taking fists that aren't much smaller than a baby's head, particularly since these two are premature. We'll manage."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Glad to know _you're_ sure. I suppose drugs are out of the question?"

"Since we don't know what effect they'd have on you or the babies, no, I don't think sedating you is a good idea, but we can do that later if things get too uncomfortable," Grace said. "Let's try the other alternatives first: breathing, massage, moving around the pool. I'd like you to remain in the water as much as possible." She picked up a bundle from a large rock beside the pool and tossed it to Methos. "Here. You might want to put this on before the others come in."

Methos looked at the maternity smock decorated with brightly colored toy animals and glared at Grace. "Not even on a bet," he said, tossing it back. "I'd rather be naked."

"Oh, _that's_ gonna thrill Richie when he comes back," Duncan murmured. Another contraction began, and Duncan wrapped an arm around Methos. "Come on, let's walk this one out. It might help."

Methos muttered something under his breath about doubting that _anything_ could help, but let Duncan take him on  round the pool.

* * *

Julian carefully made his way across the icy gravel towards the helicopter. "I can't tell you how grateful I am, Robert," he said warmly.

"No need to thank me," Robert de Valincourt replied. "I _am_ a bit curious, though. What kind of medical emergency could two Immortals have?"

Julian had prepared for this question and without missing a beat said, "It's not them, actually. The woman whose babies they're adopting went down to visit them, to see what kind of home her children will be going to, that sort of thing. She's gone into premature labor."

"Unfortunate timing," Robert said, watching Julian out of the corner of his eyes.

"Or fortunate. This way, Duncan and Adam get to be there for the actual birth."

"I hope all goes well," Robert said, opening the door to the helicopter. "And that you don't mind having two more passengers."

Julian looked up in surprise to see Joe and Gina sitting in the passenger seats. "Joe! Gina! What are you doing here?"

Gina pouted. "Really, Julian, you didn't expect me to spend New Year's Eve without Robert, did you?"

Julian sighed and looked over at the mortal. "And Joe, how did you know?"

"Connor called me after you called him."

"This is much too dangerous, with the high winds and the possibility of ice on the rotors. If we crash, well, we're Immortal, but - "

Joe glared at him. "If you think I'm missing this, you can just think again! Adam needs me there, so get your ass inside and we can take off. Babies don't wait forever."

Julian sighed, realizing it would be better to just give in and sort everything out later. He climbed in, fastened his seat belt, and gave Robert the "thumb's up" signal to take off.

 

* * *

 

"Do we have to wade around this God-damned thing again?" Methos grumbled as Duncan steered him on yet another circuit.

"You know walking helps," Duncan said patiently.

"No, it doesn't," Methos said, blatantly perjuring what he'd been saying for the past week on bed rest.  "It's just something doctors came up with to keep their laboring patients occupied so they'll stop bothering them. I should know; I was a doctor once." He stopped as another contraction began, trying to breathe steadily through the pain. "Nothing bloody well helps," he said through his teeth.

"Breathe," Duncan said encouragingly as he rubbed Methos' lower back hard, the only thing that seemed to ease the pain.

Methos glared at him. "I _am_ breathing. I've been breathing for the last four hours!"

"I know, sweetheart - "

His glare intensified. "Call me 'sweetheart' once more and I'll rip out your tongue."

"Sounds like you two need a break," Connor's calm voice said from nearby and Duncan looked around to see him standing beside them. "Why don't you take a rest, Duncan? Get something warm in you, sit down for a bit, rest up for later. You've been on your feet for hours." Duncan looked reluctant; Connor gently pushed him toward the steps. "Go."

"What about me?" Methos said indignantly. "When do _I_ get a break?"

"When this is over," Connor said, looking at him admonishingly. "Now, care for a walk?"

"Do I have a choice?" Methos began wading again, making the circuit around the pool, only to stop again as a particularly strong contraction hit. "Shit...Connor..." He reached out.

Connor grasped his arm, bracing the other Immortal. "I know," he said quietly. "It won't last forever. It just seems like it will."

Methos nodded, not sparing any precious breath on words at the moment. When the contraction eased, he looked at Connor seriously and said, "Connor, you and I have been around. We both know that the odds of me delivering these babies naturally...well, it would take a miracle. I'm just not _built_ for this. Even if I had a vagina, I don't have the right hips for childbirth."

Connor frowned. "Then why...?"

"Duncan wants this," Methos said quietly. "And Grace believes...hell, maybe I'm wrong. But if I don't...if I can't..." Methos' voice trailed off, then he said, "If I die, or if it looks like I'm not going to make it, you make sure these babies get born alive. No matter what it takes. If you have to knock everyone else out and cut them out of me, you do it. Do you understand?"

"Methos..."

Methos grasped the front of Connor's sodden shirt, twisting it in his hand to pull Connor so they were face to face. " _No matter what it takes_ ," he said harshly. "It doesn't matter what happens to me, but I want you to _swear_ you won't let them die. For Duncan, if not for me. _Swear_."

Connor nodded. His throat was so tight  he could hardly speak. "I swear. For both of you."

Methos loosened his grip on Connor's shirt. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I know I can trust you to honor your word." He drew in a deep breath and managed a bit of a smile. "Once more around the park, James."

"Very good, Sir," Connor said, trying for a smile himself although he knew he was failing. He hoped his damn-fool cousin knew how incredibly lucky he was. "Very good."

 

* * *

 

Methos panted as another contraction began, seemingly seconds after the last one had ended, and leaned heavily on Duncan, back on coach-duty again. He closed his eyes, muttering under his breath in a language that Duncan was absolutely certain hadn't been spoken for centuries. Methos had been doing that during contractions for the past hour, seeming not to recall what he'd said once the pain had passed. It was more than a little unnerving, particularly since Duncan had the gut-deep feeling that the language was Methos' own native tongue, something he said he didn't even remember.

"How are you doing?" he asked, wiping Methos' face with a cloth as the pain eased.

Methos' lips were dry and cracked, and Duncan reached for the bowl sitting on a nearby rock. He slipped a piece of ice into Methos' mouth and watched his eyes close in relief.

"Why don't you try floating again?" he asked softly. Methos hadn't been able to walk for the last hour since the contractions were coming faster now and were much more painful. Floating was the only thing that seemed to help. Methos nodded and Duncan eased him onto his back, his hands supporting Methos to keep him from going under. Methos closed his eyes and sighed a little, as even the slight release from gravity eased the aching in his body.

"Better?" Duncan asked and Methos nodded. "You're doing great. Just a little longer."

"I'm not," Methos whispered. "I can't do this anymore."

Duncan's heart sank at the misery in his lover's voice. "Methos..."

"Where's Grace?"

"I'm right here," Grace said softly, wading over to them. They had moved out of the deeper part of the pool an hour earlier when it became clear that Methos wasn't able to walk any more.

"I need to push," Methos whispered, almost desperately. "Please say I can push."

Duncan looked at Grace in concern. "Maybe we should give this up and take our chances with the other way."

"Maybe we should consider giving me drugs," Methos bit out, trying to pant through the pain as another contraction started. Duncan held onto him, grimacing as Methos' strong hands latched onto him with near desperation.

"Relax," Grace instructed, eyeing her watch as she timed the contraction. "Duncan, Methos needs you focused on _him_. Don't let him push till I say he's ready."

"Damn, I want this _over_ ," Methos moaned as he almost collapsed in Duncan's arms after the contraction ended.

"Let me check our progress." Grace slid on a fresh glove and carefully eased her fingers into the anal opening to gauge the size, then stepped back, startled, as a tingling sensation ran through her fingers. "What the..."

A strange glow was pulsing through Methos' body, as if lighting him up from just under the skin. She could feel the tingling, even without physically touching him, and knew that Duncan could, too, as his eyes widened. She also recognized that tingling: it was Quickening energy, and it was spreading up his body and down into the water.

Methos moaned, in pleasure instead of pain for a change, and threw back his head as the energy pulsed upward through his weary body. "God, that feels _good_ ," he gasped as it moved along his spine. " _Better_ than drugs."

As the glowing energy moved downward into the water, electric blue circles formed and spread outward to include Grace and Duncan. Grace couldn't help gasping again as the energy rippled through her. From the look on Duncan's face, he recognized his lover's Presence and felt the same tingling sensation.

"My God," Duncan breathed, watching in fascination as the light enveloped Methos' whole body and a look of near-ecstasy appeared on Methos' face. Duncan didn't feel any threat from the phenomenon, despite his overprotective instincts that had been switched on high for the past month. Instead, his skin tingled where he touched Methos and he felt almost euphoric. Looking over Methos' shoulder at Grace, he saw she was similarly affected. "Grace?"

Grace shook her head, dispelling the relaxed state she had drifted into, and checked Methos again. "Well, I haven't the slightest idea what just happened, but it looks like we're ready to push. How does that sound, Methos? Ready to deliver these babies?"

"Mmm," Methos murmured in agreement, his eyes half closed, a rapt look on his face. Duncan was struck by a sudden impulse to kiss the man within an inch of his life, which was bizarre because Methos was a wreck. He _definitely_ wasn't sexually appealing right now, and hearing him in pain during the last six hours had been enough to put Duncan completely off sex for the rest of his life, no matter how wonderful it was.

"Methos?" he said softly. "Are you ready? Grace thinks you can start pushing."

"About damn time," Methos said, and it sounded so much like his normal self except for the purr in his voice that Duncan couldn't help grinning like an idiot.

"On the next contraction, then," Grace said, watching Methos' face intently for signs of it beginning. As she saw the slight tensing of Methos' face, she said, "All right, _push_."

" _How_?" Methos snapped after a moment of intense concentration. "It doesn't seem to be _doing_ anything! I don't have the right bloody equipment for this!"

Grace grinned in amusement. "You have all the 'equipment' you need. Just push down, like you would if you were being penetrated."

"Which would be a hell of a lot more fun," Methos muttered. He felt another contraction building, closed his eyes, and concentrated on pushing down and out. Something that felt about the size of a boulder shifted a little, and if he could have spared the breath, he would have groaned with combined relief and dismay. At this rate, it was going to be a long, long night.

 

* * *

 

Julian snarled in frustration as the airfield at La Roche-Posay denied them landing privileges, just as the airport at Tours had. It was nearing midnight and the trip had taken much longer than usual, more because of bureaucracy than because of bad weather.

"What now?" Robert asked over the headphones, and Julian shrugged helplessly. "The house. It has outside lighting, yes?"

"Yes," Julian said. "The parking area in front has security floodlights."

"Good," Robert said. "Call MacLeod. Tell him to turn them on and move the cars."

Joe's mouth dropped open as Julian pulled off his headset to make the call. "You're gonna land in the _parking_ lot? In this snow? In the _middle of the night_?"

Robert shrugged, indicating the panel. "We have no other choice. There is not enough fuel to get us back to Paris. We land here, now, and take our chances, or we do not land at all."

Joe swore, and made sure his seat belt was fastened securely. It looked like they were in for a hell of an interesting and bumpy ride.

 

* * *

 

"It's coming!" Grace called out, her fingers making out the shape of a head against the stretched tissues. "Another good push, and we'll have the head out." She turned toward her support crew and said, "Get a warmed blanket ready and open one of the incubators. Is it plugged in?"

Connor checked the incubator while Alex pulled a baby blanket out of the warmer and stood ready. Johnny was on kitchen duty but Richie hovered nearby, videocamera in hand, trying not to get in the way as he recorded the births for them to watch later.

Grace turned back to the laboring pair. They stood chest to chest in an awkward embrace, Methos angled awkwardly forward to support the modified squat his laboring body found most comfortable. Duncan had his back against the rock ledge, his arms supporting Methos, seemingly unaware that the back of his shirt was shredded and his back scraped raw from rubbing up against the rough surface. Methos had his head on Duncan's shoulder, eyes closed as he listened to Duncan's murmured encouragement. It was a touching picture and she was loathe to disturb them.

"All right," Grace said. "When the next contraction comes, I want you to bear down as hard as you can and keep pushing until I tell you to stop. Above all, _keep breathing_. Understand?"

Methos nodded wearily, barely lifting his head off Duncan's shoulder. Although the strange light that still surrounded them had eased his pain and given him a momentary sense of euphoria, the high hadn't lasted. He was exhausted and more than ready to be done.

Duncan brushed the hair back off his  forehead and kissed him gently. "You're doing great. We're almost there. Just another push."

Methos nodded again, far beyond speech at present. He felt the tightening of his body as another wave of pain and irresistible need overtook him, and groaned.

"Push!" Duncan ordered. Methos closed his eyes, held his breath, and bore down as hard as he could. "Dammit, don't stop breathing!"

Methos was too far gone to hear him, so Duncan grabbed his face between his hands and leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. He exhaled right into Methos' face, making him blink and breath instinctively. Then he took in a deep breath, feeling Methos do the same, and let it out. Methos breathed with him, face to face, eyes locked, ignoring the world around them.

"That's it!" Grace said excitedly. "Here's the head. Keep pushing, the rest is just sliding out...oh, God, this is incredible!"

"Grace?" Duncan asked, startled by the awestruck tone in her voice.

"The first one is out," Grace said, blinking hard to clear her eyes as she stared down in awe at the small form she had just lifted clear of the water. A thin, shiny, yellowish membrane covered the child, and Grace felt a prickling along her spine. _Born in the caul_. It had been a long time since she'd seen a baby born like this, and it stirred memories of old superstitions. Babies born with a caul had the Sight, had magical abilities, were protected from death by drowning...and then the modern doctor in her pushed its way back to the front. _No wonder Methos had a hell of a time pushing this one out. The water must have broken on the other one._

Aloud, she said, "Stop pushing. Rest  while I take care of the cord. Richie, hand me the amnio hook," she said, holding out her hand.

A dry laugh came in reply. "He fainted," Connor said, handing over the implement. "Went down like a sack of potatoes when the baby came out. I don't think he was quite prepared for blood. Fortunately, he didn't break the camera."

Grace grinned and shook her head. Using the hook, she broke the amniotic sac and wiped off the baby's face so he would be able to breathe, shifting him so she could clear the rest of the membrane from the small body. Connor suctioned out the baby's mouth, letting him draw in his first breath of air, and an infant's wail echoed off the cavern walls.

"Congratulations, gentlemen. You have a son, born at - " Grace looked at Connor, who consulted his watch.

"Eleven-fifty-three," Connor said

"Eleven-fifty-three on December 31st, 1997. Connor, if you'll give me a hand..."

Connor carefully took the slippery child into his arms while Grace deftly clamped the cord in two places. "Duncan, would you like to cut the cord?" she asked, holding up the scissors. Duncan nodded and eased out of Methos' embrace so he could move around to the side. He carefully cut between the clamps, then set the scissors aside so he could touch his son's damp head and run his fingers over the soft skin.

"He's so small," he murmured and looked at Grace anxiously. "Will he be all right?"

She gave him a reassuring smile. "He'll be fine. We expected them to be a little small, remember? Connor, if you'll wrap him up and put him in the incubator to warm up, we'll take care of the rest as soon as his sister is born."

Connor nodded and Duncan reluctantly let his cousin carry the baby to the steps where Alex waited with the warmed blanket. They had just finished swaddling him when there was a sudden commotion in the house passageway. Julian burst into the cavern, his eyes quickly taking in the scene as he halted in surprise.

"What in hell...why are you here instead of in the delivery room?" He glanced down. "And why is Richie lying on the floor?"

Grace met his eyes, tilting her chin up as she prepared to defend herself. Before she could speak, Duncan called out, "Grace! They're starting again. Do you want him to push?"

"No, have him breathe and try to relax. I need to make sure she's in place for delivery."

"She?" Julian looked at Connor's loaded arms, then back to Methos and Duncan. His eyes widened. "He _delivered_ them?"

"He's delivered the boy," Grace corrected, a smile on her face. Her eyes went to Joe, just entering the cavern, then back to Julian. "Would you care to do the honors for their daughter?"

Julian didn't bother replying. His hat, coat, and shoes were off in an instant and he waded into the pool to check on his patient.

Grace's smile widened at his eagerness and she climbed wearily out of the pool, noticing for the first time that she was soaking wet. Alex handed her a bath sheet, then picked up the videocamera to continue recording the births. Grace wrapped the towel around herself as she went to Connor's side. "Let's check out this little man, shall we? And would someone pick Richie up? We don't need to be tripping over him."

Joe grinned and nudged Richie with his foot, while Grace and Connor began checking over the newborn. A few minutes later, Connor announced, "Weight 4 lbs, 15 ounces, length 18 inches. Good, considering his early arrival."

"He's okay?" Joe asked anxiously. He'd managed to coax Richie over to a nearby bench and was sitting next to him. "Everything accounted for?"

"All ten fingers and toes, and the presence of the sac reduced the molding of his head," Grace reported as she continued her examination. "His lungs sound a little congested but not as weak as I feared. No evidence of respiratory distress, so we won't need the ventilator. Heart rate and muscle tone are good, reflex and color are acceptable. Apgar of 7." Deftly, she put drops into his eyes to prevent infection and administered the vitamin-K shot, drawing a vigorous protest from the infant.

Joe grinned. "Sounds like Adam already."

Grace smiled and, after cleaning him up and diapering him, carried the reswaddled baby over to Joe. "Would you like to hold him?"

Joe's eyes lit up. "Would I!" He carefully accepted the bundle, running his fingers over the soft cheeks and touching the spiky dark hair, which was still damp. "Looks like he's got Adam's lousy haircut," he commented with a grin. The baby blinked his eyes, as if in protest. "Can't tell about the eyes yet. They look kinda blue to me."

"That'll probably change," Grace said. She sat down next to Joe and smiled down at the baby. "Welcome to the world, Joseph Fitzcairn MacLeod."

"Joseph MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Connor said, and his mouth quirked up slightly at the corner. "Well, I won't say it has a _ring_ to it..."

"Hey!" Joe protested. "Joseph's a _great_ name for a kid!" He looked down fondly at the baby who expressed his opinion of the whole business by yawning sleepily.

Meanwhile, Julian had reached his patient. "How's he doing?" he asked Duncan.

"Tired. He's been mostly non-verbal for the last hour."

Julian nodded, quickly slid on a glove, and plunged his hand into the water. He felt his way along Methos' body since he couldn't see much, even through the oddly glowing water, and his questing fingertips located what was unmistakably an infant's crowning head.

"Looks good. She's in place and ready to be delivered. At the next contraction, push hard and we'll see how far we get."

Methos groaned but nodded, then braced himself against Duncan and the rock as he felt the next wave begin. He pushed hard, aware of nothing but the hard rock tearing at his fingers, the strong arms bracing him, the encouraging murmurs in his ear,  the overwhelming imperative to _push_ , Goddammit, and get this over with.

"Wonderful!" Julian said encouragingly as the wave crested and Methos slumped weakly against Duncan's chest. "You're almost there, my friend. Another good push should do it."

"Right," Methos said, drawing in a ragged breath, his voice weak. "That's what...you guys...keep saying. Why don't you...bloody well...try this."

"And take away all your fun?"

Methos looked up at Duncan. "Remind me...kill him...when this is over."

"Anything you want," Duncan promised, feeling the body in his arms beginning to tense again. "Another good push, now. You can do it."

Methos grunted and bore down, felt an incredible surge of relief as something gave way.

"That's it," Duncan said encouragingly, glancing downward to see the head emerging. "You're almost done. You're doing beautifully." Another push, and the entire small body was sliding into the water, this time accompanied by a large cloud of red. Duncan felt suddenly dizzy and his stomach lurched.

"Easy, there," murmured Connor, sliding into the water next to him so he could brace Methos in Duncan's place. "Sit before you fall down." Duncan gulped in a deep breath of air to hold back nausea as he slumped back against the stone ledge. "You'd think you'd never seen blood before."

"Not...like that," Duncan muttered.

"Kids today. First Richie, then you." Connor gestured toward Richie, still looking green where he sat next to Joe. Then he turned his attention back to Methos, helping him ease over into a floating position again. "Relax, Methos. I've got you," he said, bracing Methos' back against his chest as Methos was too tired to float on his own.

"Thanks," Methos whispered.

Connor looked at Julian who was checking out the newly born infant in his hands, and at Joe and Grace, cooing over the little boy. Then he looked at Duncan, who was still a little pale but blindingly happy, surrounded by the family he had always wanted. "No," Connor said, looking down into Methos' face. "Thank _you_."

Julian ignored the pair, cradling the small, slippery infant in his hands. _She's perfect_ , he thought dazedly, watching as she drew in her first breath and flailed her little fists in protest. _Absolutely perfect._

"We did it, old friend," he said aloud, awe in his voice. "We actually did it." Julian looked down at Methos, grinning even as he felt tears running down his cheeks.

Methos looked up to see the tears in Julian's eyes and his own eyes felt prickly. "Yes, we did it, Juls," he murmured as he reached out for his daughter from where he floated in Connor's arms. Julian laid the baby on Methos' chest, and they looked at each other and then at the baby with the tired satisfaction of a difficult job finally finished.

"Daria Juliana MacLeod," Julian said, his voice husky. "Born 12:14 on January 1st, 1998."

Methos looked at Julian for another moment, his eyes full of gratitude, and then turned his attention back to the infant as she gave an indignant wail at being out in the world instead of safe inside her comfy womb.

Connor chuckled. "Announcing her presence, just like her father."

Julian wiped his tears away with his sleeve, smiling. "Her Highness is definitely not pleased. I'll get the cord ready for cutting."

Methos stroked his daughter's damp head, fingering the cluster of dark curls and caressing her mottled cheeks. "Beautiful," he said hoarsely. "She's beautiful."

Duncan lifted his head at the sound of Methos' voice, and the sight of his irascible partner smiling tenderly down at the tiny infant made his heart lurch in his chest. He slid back down into the water and reached out to stroke her naked back, then touched Methos' hand. "She is," he said. "And so are you."

A corner of Methos' mouth twitched with amusement. "Biased."

Duncan grinned and nodded. "Just a bit." For the second time, he cut the cord connecting his child to his spouse, then watched as Julian deftly tied it off and scooped the infant back up.

"Let's get you out of here," Julian said to Methos. "We'll deliver the placentas and let you rest for a while. Mac, Connor, would you lift him out of the water and set him on the bed?"

Julian carried the baby out of the pool and handed her over to Grace, then turned to supervise as the other two men settled Methos on the makeshift bed set up near the incubators. He draped one of the warmed blankets over Methos' torso to keep him from getting chilled, then knelt on the floor to finish the birthing process by delivering the placentas and cleaning up his patient.

"All right, we're done here," Julian said briskly as he finished. "Methos, you'll probably heal within a few hours, based on the female Immortals who delivered vaginally. The bleeding has already stopped and your muscles and tissues are slowly returning to normal. There was a little tearing, so I've put in some stitches to hold you until you heal naturally. For the next couple hours, I want you back on bed rest: not that you'll feel up to much else."

"As long as I can get _dry_ ," Methos said. "And I want to see my son."

"As soon as you're dressed," Julian promised, bundling away the dirty linen and sliding a clean sheet under him. Duncan, who'd taken the opportunity to change into the dry clothes someone had brought down for them, helped Methos slip into a sweat suit. Methos let them settle him back down on the pallet, wincing as he tried to find a comfortable position, his eyes on the bundle in Joe's arms the whole time.

Joe grinned. "Here you go, buddy," he said, giving the baby to Grace to hand to Methos. "He's a great looking kid. You done good, pal."

"Thanks, Joe," Methos murmured, brushing back the folds of the blanket so he could get his first good look at his son. Joseph's little face was purple and scrunched up as if trying to decide whether to cry or not, and his dark, spiky hair stuck out at impossible angles. Methos thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"Isn't he incredible?" Duncan said softly, looking down at them as he held their daughter, now clean and diapered, in his own arms. The others slipped out of the cavern, leaving the new family a little privacy, and Duncan sat down on the mattress next to Methos.

"How is she?" Methos asked, indicating their daughter.

"She's great," Duncan said proudly. "Five pounds, two ounces, 19 inches long." He carefully set her on the bed next to her brother, then lay down behind her, facing Methos. "And she's got a great set of lungs."

Methos chuckled. "Takes after you." He stroked her head again, noting that the curls had dried to a dark brown color. "She's got your hair."

"Too early to say anything about their eyes," Duncan said, peering down into twin pairs of slate-blue eyes. "And I think he's got _your_ hair, but I can't tell if he got your - "

"Say one word about noses, and you're sleeping on the floor."

Duncan chuckled. "I was going to say 'personality', and my, aren't we sensitive?"

Methos grinned tiredly, too content to even bicker. "They _are_ beautiful, aren't they?"

"Perfect." Duncan leaned over to brush his lips over Methos'.  "Thank you."

"I didn't do this on my own."

"No, just the hardest part of it." Duncan kissed Methos again, a little more firmly. "We make a good team."

"That we do," Methos agreed. His eyes were drooping as exhaustion won out over the post-delivery high, and Duncan reached out to tenderly stroke his hair. They both needed baths and shaves and about two days of sleep, but for now, he was content to stay right where he was, with his new family gathered close to him.


	59. Chapter 59

As Connor and his wife, Joe, Richie, and the doctors walked down the passageway connecting the springs to the rest of the house, Alexandra put an arm around Richie's shoulder and asked, "Are you all right, Rich? You still look a little pale."

Richie shuddered. " Why didn't you _warn_ me, for Chrissakes?"

Connor said teasingly, "You've seen blood before, Rich."

"Not like _that_! And there was all that other...stuff." Richie shuddered again. "I don't think I'll ever want to go in that pool again."

"Don't worry," Grace said cheerfully. "Duncan has a wonderful purification system. By tomorrow, it'll be perfectly clean and safe."

"I don't _think_ so," Richie said firmly.

Julian chuckled and ruffled the younger Immortal's hair. "Don't let them tease you, Rich. Stronger men than you have fainted dead away during childbirth. Even MacLeod was looking a little pale at the end."

"Man, he was something, wasn't he?" Richie asked, feeling proud of his mentor. "I don't know how he managed to stay so solid, with all that shit going on."

"Methos was pretty incredible, too," Connor said, remembering just what he had been willing to do, willing to sacrifice, to bring those babies into the world.

"What was incredible," Joe said, "was seeing those little ones. Holding that little baby in my hands and knowing he was only a coupla minutes old..." His voice trailed off in wonder.

"Are they gonna be all right?" Richie asked, looking worriedly at Julian. "They were so _tiny_. I've never seen babies that small."

Julian opened the door to the living room. "They'll be fine," Julian began, only to be interrupted by a voice from the living room.

"So I take it I have two new cousins," Johnny said, walking towards the group as they entered the large, open living room. "Jeez, guys, did you all fall into the pool or something? You're a mess.  You're gonna want to clean up since we've got _company_."

Belatedly, Julian remembered Robert and Gina, and his face paled. If they'd overheard...

Connor looked over towards the fireplace seating area, where Robert and Gina had just risen from the couch and were looking curiously in their direction. "Johnny?" he asked inquiringly.

Johnny shook his head infinitesimally and said softly, "Just what Julian said, nothing before that. I took them out to the kitchen and fed them, and we've been chatting in there most of the night." He looked for Duncan and Adam and asked, "Everything okay with the guys?"

Connor nodded. "They're fine. We're just giving them some time alone."

Alex moved toward the de Valincourts, holding out her hand and smiling. "Hello! Alexandra MacLeod: we met at Duncan and Adam's wedding."

Gina smiled as she shook hands. "Connor's wife, yes?. It's good to see you again."

"Our hosts are a little occupied at the moment," Alex said. "We'll do our best to make you welcome until they can get free."

"Yes, Julian said that there was an unexpected arrival," Robert said, his eyes flicking over each of them. He didn't miss the way that Connor stared in horror at Julian or the startled look on Grace and Richie's faces.

"What did you tell him?" Connor hissed under his breath.

"Just that they were adopting and that the birth mother had unexpectedly gone into labor," Julian whispered back. "I had to tell him _something_! He was the only one I could convince to bring me here!"

Joe joined Alex and the Valincourts, easing down into one of the wing chairs. "Yeah, we had a bit of excitement for a while. The mother's fine, though, and the guys are getting to know their new little ones."

"Little ones?" Robert asked.

Grace nodded. "Twins, a boy and a girl."

"Duncan must be very happy," Gina said. "He always liked children. Me, I think the best thing about children is giving them back to their parents after spoiling them."

There was a speculative look on Robert's face, and Alex decided that a diversion was needed. "We're planning on having a belated New Years' celebration in an hour," she said, improvising rapidly. "Our doctors need to change, so let me show you to your room so you can freshen up."

They followed Alex upstairs and, after leaving them in Amanda's usual room, Alex went down the hall to join her husband in theirs. He had stripped off his sodden clothes and she took a moment to admire his long, lean body. Connor grinned as he caught her looking and pulled her against him.

"See anything you like?" he asked.

Alex laughed. "Quite a lot, actually." As he started to nibble on her earlobe, she said, "Now, don't you start that! We've got a house full of people, no hosts, and two curious Immortals who need to remain in the dark about the babies. We don't have time for this."

Connor sighed and gave in. "Later?"

She smiled and caressed his cheek. "I'm counting on it."

 

* * *

 

Duncan woke from a light doze to the awareness of a small body squirming next to his. He opened his eyes, looked down at his daughter, and saw that she was whimpering.

"What is it, little girl?" he asked softly, not wanting to wake Methos. He stroked her cheek and she turned her head, her mouth latching onto his hand and sucking eagerly.  Duncan yelped and quickly pulled his hand away, wincing as he felt the suction pull at his skin.

"Oh, that's going to leave a mark."  

He looked over to see Methos looking at him in amusement through sleepy hazel eyes. "Someone appears to be hungry."

Methos sighed; Duncan had been reading aloud about the virtue of breast-feeding for the past few months although so far he hadn't agreed to it.  "Oh, all right.  In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.  But you get diaper changing duties in return.  Give her over."

Duncan handed over their daughter and carefully shifted his sleeping son to his side of the pallet.  He watched as Methos pulled up his sweater and drew her close, then pinched up a nipple and tickled her lip. Her mouth opened eagerly and Methos winced at the vigorous first suck, then looked at Duncan smugly. "Easy."

Duncan rolled his eyes but couldn't take his attention off his nursing daughter. Her eyes were half-closed and she was kneading Methos' chest with her fists.   "Incredible," he murmured.  "Are you sure she's getting enough, though?"

"They won't have much of an appetite to start."  As if to prove his words, she let go with a little sleepy sigh.  Duncan shifted her to his should to burp her, watching as Methos repeated the feeding process with their son.  "They'll need a change soon, then they'll sleep for awhile."

"I could do with a good sleep myself," Duncan said feelingly.  "In a real bed, though."

"I'll second that." Methos pushed up into a sitting position, grimacing as he did so. "Bloody hell, that hurts! I need a hand up, Mac."

Duncan helped him up, settled their daughter into Methos' arms, and then carefully picked up their son. He slid his free arm around Methos' waist and, moving slowly, headed down the passageway to the house.

They stopped in the doorway to the living room, startled by the sudden cries of "Happy New Year!" that rang through the room.

Methos rolled his eyes. "You need to get your watches fixed," he said, trying to soothe the startled infant in his arms. "It's nearly two a.m."

"We noticed," Connor said dryly, "but we were a little busy at midnight. Speaking of which, how is my favorite niece?" He appropriated the whimpering infant from Methos, bouncing her with a practiced air as he made soothing noises.

"She's your _only_ niece," Duncan reminded him, amused. He was similarly relieved of the infant in his own arms, this time by Julian, and shared an exasperated look with Methos.

"Poor Duncan, you must be exhausted!" Gina said from the couch, patting the space beside her. "Come, sit down and tell me all."

Duncan stared. "Gina? How did you get here?"

Gina laughed. "Silly! In the helicopter with Robert. Julian needed to be brought here, you see, and I came along."

Duncan looked at Julian, appalled. Before he could say anything incriminating, Joe interposed smoothly, "Julian told them about the birth mother going into labor early, Mac. How's she doing?" His eyes flicked briefly over to Methos, then back to Duncan.

"Better," Duncan said, "although she needs a lot of rest to recover." Methos rolled his eyes and made his way over to the sitting area, easing down into the lounge chair.

"Perhaps we can give her a lift back to town, when we return tomorrow," Robert said.

"No!" Duncan and Julian said in unison, then Julian continued, "I want her to remain here and rest for at least another day." To deflect Robert's attention, he said, "This little fellow is Joseph Fitzcairn MacLeod, the eldest of the pair."

Robert looked down with polite interest at the infant, and his lips twitched with amusement as he took in the sight of dark hair sticking up in all directions. Gina's eyes misted a little, and she said sadly, "Poor Fitz! He would be so pleased to know that you've named your son after him. And this little one?" she asked as Connor brought the other baby over for inspection.

"Daria Juliana," Connor said, smiling proudly at his niece.  "They're calling her 'Julie'."

Gina took one look and scrunched up her face. "But she is so ugly! Red and squashed - and should her head be pointed like that?"

Richie perched on the back of the couch behind Gina and looked down at the little bundle. "Sorta reminds me of that alien in the Spielberg movie."

"She does not!" Duncan said indignantly, taking his daughter back from Connor. "All babies look like this when they're born."

Johnny looked over Duncan's shoulder at Julie. "I don't think she's ugly," he said, and gently tickled her palm with his finger. She closed her fist around it and Johnny grinned. "She's got a heck of a grip. Can I hold her?" Duncan carefully settled her in Johnny's arms, then sat down on the arm of Methos' chair.

"Congratulations," Robert said, handing Duncan and Methos each a glass of champagne. 

"Julie and Joseph," Gina pronounced.  "They are twin names, yes?  It is so cute!"

Methos frowned.  "We don't do cute."

"Oh, I don't know about that, buddy," Joe said dryly. "I think you do cute pretty good."

"He's taken, Joe," Duncan teased.

Joe looked at Duncan, amused, and said, "You think I'd want this pain in the ass?"

"Hey!" Methos said indignantly. "I am _not_ a pain in the arse!"

Duncan, Joe, and Connor exchanged amused looks and then Duncan said soothingly, "Of course you're not."

"Hey, if you don't do cute," Richie piped up, "you could call them DJ and Joey." He looked down at Julie, lying in Johnny's arms and blinking myopically at them.  "DJ's a cool name."

Methos made a face.  "If you're in the music industry.  And our son is _not_ a kangaroo."

Grace had been watching Methos and she could see that he was at the end of his energy reserves. She decided it was time to intervene and stood up. "I think it's time for our little patients to be in bed." As Methos stifled a yawn she added, "And their daddies, too."

"And I have to check on their mother," Julian said, handing Joseph over to Grace while Duncan took Julie back from Johnny. "Night, everyone," he said, heading into the cave to finish cleaning up from earlier.

"It's been a long day for everyone," Connor said, surreptitiously helping Methos out of the chair. "I'll see if the Doc needs a hand with anything, and then I'm off to bed myself."

Duncan, Methos, and Grace made their way to the staircase to the master bedroom. Duncan gave his spouse a concerned look as they started up. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Methos said, grimacing a little. "Nothing that won't heal."

"Well, you just get into bed. Grace and I will get the babies settled."

Methos nodded and crawled into bed, sighing with happiness at the feel of the mattress under his exhausted body. He was barely aware of Grace talking softly to Duncan over by the bassinets, and then soothing fingers were running over his forehead. He pried open his eyes and peered into Grace's face. "Mmm?"

"Just making sure you're not running a fever," she said softly. "We weren't following strict sanitary procedures down there. You'll let me know if you're not feeling well, won't you?"

" 'm fine," Methos murmured. "Just tired."

"Sleep then. You've certainly earned the right to rest, and I'm sure Duncan can take care of the twins when they wake up in the night."

Methos lifted his head and peered over at the bassinets. Duncan was bent over one of them changing a diaper, and the indulgent look on his face made Methos grin. Duncan was obviously enjoying this to the hilt, having two new clan members to fuss over. Sleepily, he wondered if Duncan would still feel that way a week later when he was suffering from sleep deprivation and blue balls. He laid his head back down on the pillow, closed his eyes, and was asleep before he drew his next breath.

Grace tucked the covers over Methos, then crossed the room to check on Duncan's progress. "You're quite a hand at that," she said as she watched him fold the cloth diaper into place and secure it with the Velcro cover.

Duncan gave her a sideways grin. "I babysat for Mary when she was little." His smile faded as he remembered his current estrangement from Mary and her mother, but he forced himself to turn his attention back to his sleepy daughter. He slipped her little body into a  sleep-sack and settled her in the crib, then turned to his son.  He changed his son and then tucked him into the little bed. As he watched them asleep, he said "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

Grace nodded. "Perfect."

"Did I remember to thank you?"

She smiled. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world.  Better get some sleep. They'll be ready for another feeding in a few hours, although they won't nurse much to begin with."

Duncan closed the door behind Grace, then turned off the light and crawled into bed. He snuggled up behind Methos and wrapped his arms around his husband. Two things surprised him: they were both still fully dressed, and there was a flat belly under his hands. His fingers slid under Methos' sweater, gently stroking the warm skin. It was strange to feel taut muscles instead of the mound containing burgeoning life. Stranger still to think that two small bodies - part of their flesh and blood - lay sleeping across the room. Not a fantasy, not a dream, but reality.

He pressed his face against Methos' neck, suddenly overwhelmed by his good fortune, and kissed the skin above his collar.

"I love you," he murmured. "Forever."

 

* * *

 

There was something nagging at the corner of Duncan's awareness. Not another Immortal, although the number of buzzes in the house was probably a powerful deterrent. Not a storm outside, nor intruders. No, this was like an alarm clock, although he hadn't set it in months.

The babies.

Groaning, he pushed himself up on an elbow and looked blearily down at his spouse. Methos shifted and looked back at him, exhaustion visible on his face.

"Can you deal?" he asked sleepily.

Duncan nodded and Methos sank back into sleep. Duncan dragged himself out of bed and padded across the room to the bassinet.

"Shh, shh," he said softly, lifting out his squalling son. "You'll wake everyone else."

A whimper came from the other bassinet and Duncan sighed. "See what I mean." He carried Joseph over to the bed, gently tugged up Methos' sweater, and set their son onto the bottom tit as he'd seen Methos do earlier. As Joseph eagerly latched on, Methos started awake. He sleepily glanced down at the lump beneath his sweater, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

Duncan smiled and went back to their daughter who was now fussing loudly. "You'll have to wait your turn," he informed her, then sat down on the rocking chair with her.  She snuffled for a moment, her eyes half-closed and, as he watched her, he felt his own eyes slide shut.

Fussing stirred him from his doze he glanced over at the bed to see that Methos was burping Joseph, looking half-asleep.  Swapping babies, he finished burping his son and saw that Methos had rolled onto his back with Julie lying on his chest. Both appeared to have fallen asleep, and he couldn't help grinning.

He set their son down on the changing table to change him.  After one look at the contents of his diaper, he drew back in horror.

"What the hell? It's black! Methos, what were you eating?'" There was a sleepy chuckle from the bed, and he glared over at his husband. "You knew it would be like this, didn't you?"

"You agreed," Methos said sleepily.

Duncan pulled out a baby-wipe and tried to rub the black stool off his son's bottom. "It's like tar! How am I supposed to get this off?"

"Elbow grease?"

"Oh, you're a lot of help," Duncan grumbled, working at the mess. He finished cleaning Joseph, diapered him, and tucked him back into his sleeper.  Joseph was _not_ happy about the whole thing. He whimpered at being undressed, fussed during changing, and refused to settle down in his bassinet afterward.

Methos groaned from the bed. "Swaddle the little beast, would you?"

Duncan gave his spouse an indignant look. "Methos! He's just a baby!"

Methos sighed. "Oh, for God's sake..." He dragged himself out of bed, handing their daughter over to Duncan. Laying out one of the baby blankets, he placed Joseph in the middle and deftly folded the ends over him so that he was snugly wrapped.  Joseph settled down and with a snuffly yawn went to sleep.

Duncan eyed the proceedings and said, doubtfully, "Is it good to wrap him so tightly? The women in my village preferred to wrap babies loosely, said it made them hardier."

"Some newborns prefer this; reminds them of the womb." He yawned. "Do you think we can get some sleep now?"

Duncan steered him back to bed. "I was trying to manage so you wouldn't have to get up."

Methos' expression softened, and he reached out to touch Duncan's cheek affectionately. "I know," he said, then gave him a mock-scowl. "Although setting him on my tit when I was sleeping was pretty cruel."

Duncan chuckled and slid into bed, then pulled Methos into his arms. "Shut up and go to sleep."  

* * *

 

The next two days seemed to pass by Duncan in a blur. It felt as if they spent all their time feeding and changing the babies. Methos was still exhausted and only woke to feed the babies or stagger into the bathroom, not even eating much although he drank liquids constantly.

Julian had gone back to Paris with Robert and Gina the day after the twins were born, Robert somehow managing to get a refueling truck out to the house. Grace kept a sharp eye on both the twins and Methos, but all three seemed to be doing well.  Connor, Johnny, and Richie ran up and down from the master bedroom/nursery with food and drinks for the new parents, while Alex and Joe spent most of their time in the kitchen, stocking the freezer with casseroles for later.

"When will they start sleeping longer than an hour?" Duncan asked at the end of the second day, as Methos tucked Joseph in his bassinet and then crawled in bed beside him.

Methos yawned sleepily and snuggled closer. "They're just not settled yet. Give them a little more time."

"To do _what_?"

"Mac, they're having to eat and breathe for themselves. It's unsettling for them but it'll get better soon. In about, oh, four to six weeks."

"Four to six..." Duncan groaned and flopped onto his back. "No wonder parents don't have sex after babies! Who has the damn energy?" Right on cue, Julie started fussing.

"Your turn," Methos muttered, poking him.

Duncan groaned and dragged himself out of bed.  As he lay back in bed, watched their daughter suckle at Methos' chest, he felt his eyes drift shut.  _Just a few minutes rest..._

 

* * *

Duncan woke with a start to find he was alone in bed. Panicked, he looked around for Methos, and heard his husband's soft voice from across the room.

"It's all right. I put her back in her bed."

"Good," Duncan said with a sigh of relief. "I didn't mean to fall asleep like that." He sat up and looked over at where Methos sat in the rocking chair, one of the babies lying across his knees as he sat and read. "Problems?"

"Joseph can't sleep."

Duncan glanced at the clock and saw that it was a little after two in the morning. He gave Methos an incredulous look. "He can't sleep? Isn't that just about all they do?"

Methos shrugged. "It happens some times." One hand rubbed soothingly across the infant's back. "I think he's colicky."

Duncan groaned and rubbed his face with his hand. "Wonderful."

"Go back to sleep, Mac," Methos said softly. "I've got everything covered for now."

"All right," Duncan said. "Wake me for the next feeding." He slid back down in the bed and closed his eyes, falling into an exhausted sleep within minutes.

Methos watched his sleeping husband from across the room, still idly rubbing his son's back, and wondered about his chances of sleeping. His body felt unsettled, as if it couldn't decide if it was day or night, and he was starting to ache from all the time spent in bed. With a sigh, he picked up his book again.

 

* * *

 

Methos was back in bed when Duncan woke up a few hours later for a trip to the bathroom. It was early morning so he must have missed another feeding, he thought. He looked into their bassinets, just to check that they were both asleep and still breathing, then slipped downstairs to get  breakfast for Methos.

Grace was sitting at the kitchen table, a coffee mug in her hands, and she looked up with a smile as he entered the kitchen. "It lives," she said teasingly.

"Barely," he said with a yawn. "Tell me it'll get better. Lie if you have to."

She chuckled. "It'll get better. Sit."

Duncan poured a glass of juice and sat down at the table with her. "I can't stay long. Methos took the last wake-up, and I want him to sleep, if possible. When I woke at two he was already up, said he couldn't sleep."

"It happens," Grace said. "His body clock is probably so off that it doesn't know _what_ time it is. Yours too, for that matter."

"Are you sure he's all right? "

"Duncan, there's a reason they call it labor," she said, covering his hand with her own. "It's tough on women, and we're at least equipped for the task. It was a lot tougher on Methos. Speaking of which, has he had a bowel movement yet?"

Duncan gave her a pointed look. "He probably doesn't _want_ one," he said. "He got stitches down there, remember?"

"Which should have healed by now, even if he's still healing slowly. It's important," Grace said, a little impatiently. "We need to make sure that his body is functioning normally."

"He's not going to die from it."

"No but he could get damn uncomfortable from a backed-up intestinal tract," she retorted.

"Wonderful," Duncan sighed. "He's just so tired; I wish he could sleep more.  Maybe I shouldn't have convinced him to breast-feed."

"Actually, it will help him recover faster, as long as he's getting enough nourishment.  And he can have one beer a day, to help with letting-down milk."

"That'll make him happy," Duncan said. then pushed out of the chair.  "I need to get back up there before the babies wake."  He quickly put together a tray with juice, fruit and pastries.  "Oh, Methos thinks Joseph is colicky."

"I'll go up with you and take a look at them," she said.  "I wouldn't be surprised, though, since he was the smaller of the two." She smiled and squeezed his arm. "Don't worry, we'll get you through it. And colic usually doesn't get bad until they're between three and six months old."

"Lovely," Duncan said ironically. "Look what I have to look forward to."

 

* * *

 

Methos woke with a start, heart racing as the last of an anxiety dream in which he'd misplaced the babies faded.  He was alone bed, but a moment later Duncan sat down next to him, concern on his face. "Are you all right?"

Methos nodded. "Fine. Just woke up a bit sudden."  He sat up and stretched sore muscles.

"I brought breakfast," Duncan said, indicating the tray.  "Grace was up here just a bit ago and checked on the babies, says they're fine.  Oh, and she'd appreciate it if you'd try to have a bowel movement."

Methos groaned and flopped down on his back, pulling the blanket over his head. "God, I don't even want to think about that.  And don't fuss.  I'm fine, just need lots of rest and TLC."  One of the babies started crying.  "Which it looks like we're not getting."

Duncan watched as he crossed to pick up Julie. His eyes hurt and his body was crying for sleep, but he was worried about his spouse. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Methos settled in the rocker, looking over at him with amused affection. "I'm fine." He winced as she latched on. "Although I'm going to need ointment for these. They're chapped as hell. You, on the other hand, look like the last survivor of a forced death march. Go to sleep, Mac."

"After I use the bathroom."  Duncan came back out of the bathroom and detoured by Methos' chair so he could stroke Methos' tousled hair. "I love you."

"Love you, too.". Methos gave him a kiss and then swatted him lightly. "Bed. You need it. And if you're not asleep in five minutes, the next one will be harder."

Duncan grinned. "I love it when you go all macho on me, " he teased. Methos aimed another swat at his ass as Duncan jumped out of the way and continued on to bed. He was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

Methos smiled and looked down at Julie who was nursing drowsily. "You have the best daddy in the world, kid," he murmured. "And I don't mean me."

 

* * *

 

Richie entered the bedroom, a pitcher of juice in hand, and poured a glass for Methos as he sat in the rocking chair, nursing Joseph. "Connor and Alex just left.  Are you ever coming out of the bedroom again?" he asked.

Methos sighed. "No, Rich. I plan to live the rest of my life more secluded than Emily Dickinson, becoming an increasingly eccentric recluse."  Joseph pulled back from his nipple and started to wail.  He glared at Richie.  "Now look what you've done."

"Hey, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you or Joey," Richie said, looking stricken.

Methos sighed.  "Sorry, Rich.  Just a bit on the tired side."

Richie grinned reassuringly. "No problem, man. I saw what you did a few nights ago. I think you're entitled to be grumpy. Where's DJ?"

" _Julie_ is with Mac," Methos said, shifting the drowsy baby in his arms to the other nipple. "He's trying to sort through the mountains of dirty clothing down in the laundry room."

"Hey,  I can help with the laundry."

"Rich you've been picking up all the slack around here, and we're very grateful. It's time we started doing our share." Methos moved the baby to his shoulder and Joseph immediately spit up all over the burping cloth, drenching it and his shirt underneath.

Richie tried not to grin as Methos made a disgusted face. He took the baby and set about soothing Joseph's fussing as Methos stripped off his shirt and vainly searched for a clean one.

"Damn! I've _got_ to get laundry done."

"Go on," Richie said, setting the infant on the table and changing him with a practiced air. "I'll take care of this little guy."

Methos hesitated, uncertain about leaving his baby with anyone but Duncan, then nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He grabbed the basket of dirty laundry and headed downstairs, then frowned as he failed to find Duncan in the laundry area. A quick peek into the living room located his spouse, fast asleep on the couch. Julie, tucked inside a Snugly, was asleep as well, and he couldn't help grinning as he watched the two of them.

A squall from overhead reminded him that his son was not happy with the situation, and Methos went back into the laundry room. Locating one of his shirts in a clean basket, he pulled it on and started up the stairs to tend to Joseph.

The squalling suddenly stopped and Methos sprinted up the stairs, heart in his throat, to see what had happened to his baby. Richie looked up triumphantly from the rocking chair, and Methos saw that Joseph was contentedly sucking on Richie's little finger, his eyes closed.

Methos thought about asking if Richie's hands were clean but decided that at this point he didn't care. "You're hired," he said, collapsing on the bed.

Richie grinned. "Guess something good came out of all those foster homes I lived in. Go ahead, catch a nap; me and Joey will be fine."

Methos was asleep almost before Richie finished talking.


	60. Chapter 60

By the middle of the second week, Duncan would have given just about anything for a full night's rest for either of them. He was certain that the bags under his eyes were developing into a full set of matching luggage, and Methos' temper was on a hair-trigger. The others tried to help out as much as possible, but since the babies were nursing, they needed Methos at feeding time.

Still, as he changed one of the babies for the umpteenth time that day, he couldn't help marveling at the perfection of the little fingers and toes. He kissed the tiny digits, eliciting a coo from the baby and a chuckle from his spouse.

Duncan looked over to see Methos standing in the doorway with the laundry basket. "What?" he said, not even trying to hide his grin.

"You're a sap, you know that?" Methos asked. "They have you completely wrapped around their fingers already. I can see I'm going to have to be the disciplinarian around here."

Duncan wiggled his eyebrows at Methos. "Sounds like fun."

Methos snorted. "As if either of us could get it up." He set the basket on the bed and began sorting clothes. "It's pretty damn pathetic when I'm more intimately involved with the washer and dryer than with my own husband."

"I had no idea babies went through so many changes of clothing," Duncan admitted.

"They're not the only ones," Methos said, gesturing at Duncan's shirt. "Or is baby spit-up the latest fashion accessory?"

Duncan sighed and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I know I put a diaper over my shoulder. I think DJ deliberately aims to miss it."

"If it were only that," Methos said, tossing him a clean shirt from the stack. Joseph stirred in his bassinet and starting whimpering, and Methos looked down at the twin wet spots spreading out around his nipples with a disgusted sigh. "Speaking of which, thar she blows!"

Duncan chuckled as he watched his spouse remove his shirt. "At least we know you're producing enough to feed them."

"There's 'enough' and there's 'too much of a good thing'," Methos groused, scooping up their son and settling in the rocking chair. "If I ever take up medicine again, I swear I'll have more sympathy for my maternity patients."

Duncan nodded as he headed into the bathroom. "I never realized the words 'milk coming in' could be so ominous.  I thought we were going to have to find a way for you to wear ice packs on your chest." He came back out of the bathroom carrying a large case.

Methos rolled his eyes. "You really want me to  try that thing again?"

Duncan unpacked and assembled the electric breast pump. "I have a goal in mind: several hours of uninterrupted sleep while our good friends and family baby-sit."

"If you really need the rest, I'll take them downstairs, let you get some quiet."

Duncan frowned at his spouse. "You need the rest even more than I do. You're not getting much sleep and your appetite is nearly non-existent."  He held up the pump.  "It's either this or we switch to formula so I can help feed."

"Fine, fine, I'll try it, okay?'  He switched out the sleepy baby for the pump, frowning as he tried to position it comfortably, then wincing at the tugging feeling, different from the babies. 

He opened his eyes to see Duncan watching him avidly and rolled his eyes.  "Pervert."

Duncan shrugged.  "I can't help it; you were right - it's incredibly erotic watching you nurse. "  Methos snorted.  "Speaking of which, theoretically assuming we ever discover where our libidos disappeared to, how soon till we can have sex?"

"Theoretically is right." Methos shrugged. "Julian said to give it a week after delivery so by now we could do it when we feel up to. Which should be just about when they're heading off to college."

Duncan chuckled. "Optimist. What makes you think that'll help?"

"Because I plan on moving without a forwarding address the minute they leave," Methos said, grinning back at him. He glanced at the bottle filling from the pump. "Hmm. Better  than I thought.  Maybe I'll get that night off after all.  We should consider setting the nursery up downstairs. The babies can still sleep up here at night since they're nursing every couple hours, but during the day they can sleep downstairs. Give us a change of scenery."

He looked up to see that Duncan still had his attention on Methos' chest and snorted.  "Pervert."

 

* * *

 

Methos groaned as he tried to zip up his jeans. They refused to close comfortably over his stomach; he stripped them off and threw them against the wall.

Duncan looked up from changing Joey and said, "Grace said it would be a while before your clothes fit properly again. While you're nursing, recovery to your pre-pregnancy state is slower than usual for an Immortal. But think on the bright side: mortal women often have permanent size changes in their feet and hands."

Methos glared. "I've been roughly the same size for 5000 years, and this is _not_ making me happy.  And I don't want to go to this bloody meeting."

"Then don't," Duncan said. "You're only three weeks post-partem. Why should you go to work?"

" _They_ don't know I'm only three weeks post-partem, and I missed the last meeting because when I was sick and we told them I had the flu. I have to go."

"So the flu could have developed into bronchitis or pneumonia. Stay home, sweetheart. You're in no condition to go out."

Methos just glared at him and jerked on some of his maternity clothes, then stomped out the door.

 

* * *

 

"Where are they?" Amanda said, impetuously bursting into the house.

Duncan looked up from the lounge chair where he'd been contentedly bottle-feeding his three-week-old son. The house was quiet for a change, although Richie was somewhere on the property. Grace had run Joe back up to Paris that morning and was planning on returning with Julian in the evening, but for now Duncan and the babies had the house to themselves.

"Nice to see you, too, Amanda," he said. "Methos is doing just fine, thanks for asking."

Amanda waved a hand dismissively. "I know; Joe told me. He's a tough old bird and it'd take more than childbirth to do him in. So?"

Duncan grinned and held out his sated son. "Well, since you're so curious, Aunt Amanda, you can do the honors and burp and change little Joseph."

Amanda gave him a horror-stricken look and backed up a step. "No, thanks! I'm a disaster with children. I'll just watch."

Duncan laughed and transferred Joseph to his shoulder to be burped. "DJ's sleeping in the nursery," he said, carefully standing so he could lead the way to the little room they'd finished setting up for the babies, now that the delivery room was no longer needed. "She's already set herself on a schedule, eats and sleeps like a trouper. This little man, though," he said, giving his son an affectionate look, "eats and sleeps on his own whims, and fusses a good bit of the time in between."

"Inherited Methos' disposition, did he?" Amanda asked, amused. "Speaking of which, where is the old reprobate?"

"Poitiers. Staff meeting at work, and since he missed the last one, he thought he'd better attend." Duncan set his son on the changing table, deftly changing and swaddling him before setting him in the crib. Then he turned to his daughter, carefully lifting her out of her bed. She blinked open sleepy blue-green eyes and gurgled at him. Duncan smiled at her, besotted. "There's my good girl."

Amanda chuckled. "You know, Duncan, they say that the ones who are difficult infants become easier as they get older, and vice versa."

Duncan looked down at his daughter in dismay. "That's an Old Wives' tale...isn't it?" Amanda laughed and Duncan grimaced. "That's it; convent school as soon as puberty hits."

Amanda leaned over to smile at the baby. "Don't worry, darling; Aunt Amanda will rescue you."

Duncan snorted. "Aunt Amanda won't be allowed near you without supervision."

Amanda made a face at him but Duncan ignored her as he settled DJ back in her crib.

"Can I offer you some lunch or a drink?" he asked, leading the way towards the kitchen.

"That would be wonderful."

The outside door suddenly burst open and Methos stormed in. Startled, Duncan watched him fling his briefcase and coat on the library couch.

"Bad day at the office, dear?" he asked. "You're home early. I thought the staff meeting would last longer."

"I didn't go to it," Methos snapped. "I've been sacked."

"What?" Duncan asked, stunned.

"Fired, terminated, let go, outsourced, my option was not renewed - stop me when this gets through your head."

"But I thought they liked your work."

"'They' do. My _supervisor_ doesn't like me. The Wicked Witch of the Mediatheque." He angrily began undoing the buttons on his shirt. "I'm going upstairs to change."

Amanda watched him stomp up the stairs, then turned to Duncan. "Why is he so upset? It's just a job."

"It's more than that to Methos," Duncan said, looking up the stairs after his spouse. "He takes a lot of pride in his work, and he's had his eye on one of the upcoming projects: quite a lot of prestige in it, but more importantly, a wonderful challenge for him." He sighed. "Plus, he's been more irritable than usual, what with lack of sleep."

"Bloody hell!" Methos' irritated voice floated down the stairs. "Don't I have any clothes that _fit_?"

Duncan winced as he heard drawers open and shut violently. "He's at that in-between stage," he explained. "His body is returning to its previous size, so his maternity clothes are too baggy. But he's not quite there yet, so his old clothes don't fit, either. Fortunately, he always preferred baggy shirts and sweaters, so the additional padding from nursing isn't a problem."

Amanda gave him a look that combined awe and disbelief. "He is really nursing them?"

Duncan shrugged. "Easier than fixing formula, and better for the babies, although we've started bottling milk as well." He didn't want to admit to Amanda that he enjoyed watching Methos nurse and even got aroused from it. Not that the arousal was good for anything. If they even managed to be sleeping in the same bed at the same time, they counted themselves lucky.

Amanda suddenly laughed, gesturing towards the patio doors. "Well, it looks like he's got an interesting solution to his problem."

Duncan turned around, just in time to catch sight of a shirt floating down on the breeze to land on one of the snow-covered bushes outside. As he stared, several shirts fell in a clump,followed by a pair of trousers, then another shirt began its descent. He couldn't help grinning at the sight of clothes scattered about the terrace and lawn, and then he took a closer look.

"Hey! That's _my_ silk shirt!"

He stormed up the stairs and burst into the room as Methos headed towards the balcony with another armload of clothes. "What are you doing, you maniac!"

Methos glared at him as he paused in the open doorway, not seeming to mind that he was clad only in a pair of boxers and it was freezing outside. " _Nothing_ _fits_!"

"And that's why you're throwing _my_ clothes out the window?"

"Oh, I see," Methos said, tossing the clothes onto the floor. "It's fine if I throw _my_ clothes out the windows, but not _yours_."

"Of course it's not fine," Duncan said, trying to be patient. "It's damn stupid, but they're _yours_. But I paid a lot for that silk shirt, I'll have you know."

"Unlike my clothes which look like they were picked out of a rubbish bin, right?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Duncan snapped, lack of sleep short-circuiting his normal temper, "that sweater of yours has seen better days." He picked said sweater off the bed and stomped over to the window, tossing it out to join the scattered clothing.

"Hey! That's my favorite!" Methos protested.

" _Was_ your favorite."

Methos glared at Duncan and grabbed another armload of clothes from the wardrobe, then stomped towards the balcony.

"Hold it," Duncan said, barring the way.

"Fuck you," Methos shot back, trying to dodge around Duncan.

"Boys," Amanda said from the doorway, "don't you think this is just a wee bit silly?" They both glared at her. "And, not that I'm not enjoying the view, but let me see if I can help you find something to wear, Methos."

"I _don't_ need help picking out my clothes," Methos said from between his clenched teeth. "I've been doing it without help for centuries."

"Darling, if truth were to be told, you've _needed_ help. Those maroon pants...?"

"I don't have them anymore. Mac ruined them," Methos said, returning his glare to his spouse. "'Accidentally', he said, but now I'm not sure. And what was wrong with them?"

"Would you like the list alphabetically or in order of importance?" Amanda asked sweetly.

"I don't need _either_ of you to help," Methos said to Duncan, dumping the clothes on the floor. "So why don't you and your - your _friend_ just go back downstairs and continue what you were doing before I interrupted? I'm sure it was vastly more entertaining than _I_ am. You could probably even get it up for _her_ since she's not a fat psychopath like me! God knows you didn't have any trouble throwing me out on a cold, damp night, when I was pregnant with _your_ children, so you could cuddle with her!"

Duncan stared blankly. "What are you talking about? When did I ever throw you out?"

Methos glared at him. "Keane? Remember? First you threatened to take my head, then you snuggled up with your floozy girlfriend - "

"That was months ago!  And I didn't even know you were pregnant! Neither did _you_!"

Amanda drew in an outraged gasp. "Floozy! Who are you calling a floozy?"

"If the flooze fits..."

"At least _I_ only take on one lover at a time," Amanda retorted. "Whereas I heard _you_ were running 'two-for-one' specials in that whorehouse in Prague."

"Jealous?" Methos smirked. "At least _I_ don't have to rely on minimal, skin-tight packaging to lure in my prey."

"Good thing," Amanda shot back. "With that extra weight you're carrying, you wouldn't have a shot at luring in _anyone_."

"I heard _you_ had to _bribe_ your way into that Turkish harem because you couldn't make it in on your own dubious charms."

"Why you little - "

Duncan grabbed Amanda as she lunged for Methos, holding her tightly around the waist as she attempted to claw at Methos. "Amanda!"

"Let her go, Mac. I could take her with one hand tied behind my back - although being on your back is one of your most skillful positions, isn't it, Amanda dear?"

Amanda snarled again as Duncan heard footsteps on the stairs. Richie poked his head in.

"Mac, did you know there are clothes all over the back yard? Hi, Amanda," he said, then looked over the tableau. "Something wrong, guys?"

"Bright boy," Methos snapped. "Mac, you certainly know how to pick your friends. Tell me, do you _deliberately_ choose people stupider than you, or is that just a lucky coincidence?"

Duncan spun Amanda off into Richie's arms, trusting the younger man to contain her till she cooled off. He turned to his lover, frowning. "Look, I know that things around here have been pretty stressful lately, but don't you think you're being a little harsh? Richie and Amanda are your friends, too."

"Oh, look," Methos said mockingly. "Duncan MacLeod, the 'Miss Manners' of the Immortal set."

"Someone is going the right way for a smacked bottom."

"Sorry, _dahling_ \- your kink, not mine!"

"That's it!" Duncan snapped, stepping towards his husband. Richie hastily let go of Amanda and stepped between the two men.

"Hold on, Mac," he said, raising his hands to stop his mentor. "I think we can all agree that the old guy is more than a little over-stressed these days, and yelling at him is _not_ gonna help."

Methos was starting to see the humor in the situation. He crossed his arms and surveyed Duncan and Richie with mock horror. "My god! It _is_ contagious."

Duncan ignored him, rounding on Richie instead. "How do you know it won't help? You don't know what I've had to put up with! Yelling at him sounds like a pretty good idea right now!"

"Yeah, but you'll just hate yourself in the morning, Mac," Richie said. "Why don't you take a deep cleansing breath and try to relax?"

Amanda couldn't help a snort of laughter, and she moved closer to Methos as they watched the two younger Immortals start a heated debate. "Frightening, isn't it?"

"How did _you_ manage to avoid contagion?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged. "Never stay around him long enough for it to take hold. And you're just too ornery to catch it." She made a face. "I forgot just how much of a spoil-sport Duncan can be."

"Yeah, we were just starting to have fun, weren't we?"

He grinned at her and jerked his head in the direction of the pile of clothes he'd dropped on the floor. "I know just the thing to make you feel better."

And as Amanda stood beside him on the balcony, watching one of Duncan's favorite shirts drift down towards the snow, she said, "You're right. This _is_ strangely therapeutic..."

* * *

Duncan carried the last load of laundry upstairs and found his lover staring out the French doors over the yard. Since there didn't appear to be any clothing in danger of getting tossed, he relaxed a little - but set the laundry basket a safe distance away, just in case.

"Methos?" he asked softly, moving up behind his silent partner. He slid his arms around his lover's waist and gently kissed his cheek. "Thoughts worth a penny?"

Methos managed a fleeting smile and leaned back against him. "Sorry, Mac. I don't know what came over me."

Duncan shrugged. "It's been a stressful couple of months, you're sleep deprived, you've been stuck in this house for weeks, and you've been fired from your job. I'm not surprised that you lost it." He chuckled. "In fact, it was pretty funny, in retrospect."

Methos grinned. "Yeah, it was. I feel better than I have in weeks."

Duncan kissed him again. "Want to talk about work?"

"Not particularly," Methos retorted. "I'd rather take out a contract on that bitch."

"Can't help you there, but how about a nice, relaxing evening? You can read, get a good night's sleep..."

Methos turned his head to look at Duncan in fond exasperation. "In case it has slipped your mind, we have two small parasites who require regular feedings."

"And in case it's slipped _your_ mind, they're finally starting to sleep a couple hours at a stretch. We've got enough emergency bottles ready for the night, thanks to the pump, _and_ we have a couple of experienced sitters."

"Amanda and Richie?" Methos asked in disbelief.

"Grace is back from Paris with Julian. They arrived before I came upstairs, and they offered to give us a night off from baby-duty. I thought we'd go back to Paris with them on Monday, spend a few days there, give you a change of scenery.  So why don't you crawl into bed and I'll bring you some dinner."

Methos leaned forward to nip at Duncan's neck. "I'd rather have _you_ for dinner."

Duncan could feel his sex-deprived body parts perk up at the invitation, even as he said reluctantly, "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"It's a _great_ idea," Methos said, backing towards the bed, pulling Duncan with him. "Do you know how long it's been since we had sex?"

"Twenty-three days, twenty-two hours, and an odd number of minutes," Duncan said, giving in as Methos tumbled back onto the bed and pulled him down. "But who's counting."

"Trust you to know to the minute."

"Of course," Duncan said, leaning down to kiss his husband. "My birthday night. You gave me the third best present of my life."

"Only the third?"

"The top two are the babies and you saying 'I do' six months ago," Duncan reminded him, kissing him again. "You sure this is okay? We don't need to clear it with Julian?"

Methos hauled Duncan back down. "I'm _positive_. Although if you're not naked within the next few minutes, I might change my mind."

Duncan grinned. "I'll see what I can do, if you're sure you're okay."

"I'm feeling _much_ better," Methos said, squirming sensually against him. "I needed to let off steam. Speaking of which, someone mentioned a smacked bottom, didn't they?"

"You said that was _my_ kink, not yours."

"I lied." Methos gave him an impish look.

"Oh, did you, now?" Duncan rolled them so that Methos was lying on top of him and slid his hand into the waistband of Methos' sweats. He stroked the full curves of his lover's ass as he said, "Someone wants to play a little tonight?"

"Maaaybe."

Duncan pulled the sweats down, exposing Methos' ass, then smacked one cheek several times. Methos gasped and bucked against him, and Duncan could feel his lover's rapidly filling cock press against his through their clothing. He caressed the heated skin lovingly for a moment, then administered several more stinging swats to the same cheek.

"Oh, God, Duncan," Methos gasped. He rocked between the stinging hand behind him and the hard body below him, feeling as if he might explode any moment. "In me! Now!"

Duncan groaned and slid out from under Methos, searching desperately for the lube in the bedside table, something they hadn't needed for the past month. He turned back to the bed to see his lover humping it, his sweats around his knees exposing one red cheek and one white. Duncan's breath caught and he fairly ripped off his clothes, then pounced on his spouse.

He swatted the reddened flesh. "Lay still," he said, then pressed a lubed finger against his lover's opening. Methos gasped and pushed back, desperate to impale himself on Duncan's finger, and he swatted him again. "None of that."

Duncan continuing to deliver sharp stinging smacks as he reached under Methos' belly and grabbed his cock, holding him in place while continuing to redden one cheek.

Methos thrust up to meet the stinging swats. "God, that feels so good," he gasped. "More! Fuck me!"

Duncan grinned and pushed his finger in, reaching deep while caressing the sore cheek with his other hand. He loved the contrast between the two cheeks, one fiery red and one pale white, and deliberately drew out the stretching process.

Methos bucked and writhed under him. "Fuck me _now_ or I'll kill you."

Duncan chuckled and quickly lubed his cock. He pulled Methos' hips up off the bed, spread his ass cheeks with both hands, and thrust in hard and deep.

Methos' eyes almost rolled up in his head and he pushed back to meet Duncan's thrusts, delighting in the feel of the his body slamming against his spank-warmed skin. He moaned and writhed, half out of his mind as Duncan kept thrusting in hard and deep. One of Duncan's hands grasped Methos' cock, pulling it hard.  Methos shouted and came, hard, then collapsed face-first into the bed.

Duncan groaned as he felt his spouse's climax rip through him and then he was coming too, in shuddering spasms that seemed to tear him apart. He was barely aware that he had followed Methos down onto the bed, pinning his lover. Methos didn't seem to notice it, either, as he lay there drawing in shuddering breaths.

After a few minutes, Duncan regenerated enough brain cells to remember how to move and pulled out. A quick look ascertained that no damage had been done, and then he collapsed on the bed beside his sated lover.

Methos laughed softly. "Well, I think the dry spell is definitely over. And speaking of dry..." He rolled over, away from the wet spot, and coincidentally rolled right into Duncan's arms.

Not that he was complaining. He wrapped his arms around Methos, settling his chin on the damp hair, and murmured, "Think we could maybe do this again?"

"Mmm-hmm," Methos murmured as he snuggled closer. "I'll pencil you in for the day the kids go off to college."

"Can't," Duncan murmured back. "We'll be too busy moving."

"Baby sitters," Methos said sleepily. "Richie can start earning his keep."

Duncan snorted. "Do you know what babysitters earn these days? Even you don't have that much money."

"Who was talking about money? Blackmail. It's much cheaper."

Duncan chuckled. "Go to sleep, you idiot."

Methos did, and slept straight through till midnight. Then he pounced his lover again and kept him in bed till morning. Not that Duncan was complaining.


	61. Chapter 61

"Now _this_ is exactly what the doctor ordered," Methos said with satisfaction, looking around the hotel suite.

"Nothing but the best for you," Duncan agreed, wrapping his arms around Methos' waist from behind and nuzzling his neck.

Methos turned his head so that his spouse could see his grin. "Someone is feeling frisky today."

"Mmm," Duncan agreed. "A weekend with plenty of rest, sex for the first time in a month, and two weeks of first-class pampering to enjoy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I thought you might be moping for your barge."

Duncan shrugged. "It's been sitting empty for months and it would hardly be practical to set it up for just two weeks. Besides, it's not exactly the best place for babies." He sighed. "And it's only going to get worse as they get older. I suppose I should think about selling it."

"You could always lease it out."

"I thought you hated the barge."

Methos gave him a half-smile. "I have some fond memories of the place." He moved in close to Duncan and said, "It's where we made love for the first time. Well, the first time that I remember."

Duncan slid his arms around Methos and kissed him, an unhurried kiss that allowed the passion to build slowly. They heard a groan from the doorway.

"Guys, this is _not_ the sort of thing these little ones should be seeing."

Duncan released Methos' mouth long enough to say, "Then take them in the other room, Rich."

"We have _plans_ tonight, remember? Dinner with Julian? Joe's place afterward?"

Methos gave Duncan a brief kiss that promised much more later and then reluctantly pulled away. "Spoil sport."

"Hungry," Richie retorted.

Duncan checked the double stroller, making sure that the babies were secure and that all their accessories had been stored in the basket underneath. "Let's go, then."

"The quicker we do this, the sooner we can return," Methos agreed. As Richie rolled his eyes, Methos faked an innocent look. "What? I was just thinking how nice it would be to get a good night's sleep."

"Sure you were," Richie said. "Just remember that these hotel walls aren't as thick as the ones back home."

"No, but some of the occupants are," Methos teased.

"Hey!" Richie protested, but he grinned at Methos restored to his usual irascible self.

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Behave, children, or I'll get a baby-sitter for _you_."

"He's such a spoilsport," Richie said with a sigh.

"I know how to fix him," Methos said confidentially. "We'll toss his clothes out the window again."

"Do, and you two will be the next things to go out the window."

Duncan led the way down to the car and spent a great deal of time making sure that the twins' car seats were securely placed in their anchors. Methos and Richie shared an amused look but said nothing, knowing how seriously Duncan took the babies' safety.

Julian and Grace were waiting for them at the restaurant, and Julian handed Duncan a large, official looking envelope.

"The birth certificates and adoption papers, signed and sealed," he said. "According to the 'official' records, they were conceived by artificial insemination and paternity tests confirm that Duncan is Julie's biological father, and Adam is Joseph's. Each of you has adopted the other's child to prevent legal problems in the future."

Duncan nodded and glanced through the papers. Grace said quietly, "You realize that as they get older, this polite little fiction is going to fall apart. As far as other Immortals go, at any rate. The babies look too much like both of you for it to be coincidence."

Methos nodded soberly. "We'll just have to deal with that when it comes up, but Mac and I intend to keep a low profile. Right, Mac?" he said.

Duncan frowned. "I told you I agreed, Adam." He looked back at Julian. "Do you think Robert suspects?"

Julian frowned but shook his head. "He knows that there's something unusual about the babies. He noticed their pre-Immortal buzz. I think he believes you came across a woman pregnant with pre-Immortals and took her in so you could adopt her child. He'd probably like to know how you found her, but nothing else."

"Do you think he'll try to find her?"

Julian shook his head again. "No," he said flatly. "He thinks she's dead." At Duncan's surprised look, he said, "Many Immortals believe our mothers die giving birth to us, which is why we are all foundlings." Julian looked over at the sleeping twins and said, "So, how are our little celebrities doing tonight?"

"They are completely blasé about Paris," Methos said, looking at the babies affectionately.

"Any plans for your holiday here?"

"We're going to talk to Father Liam about their christening," Duncan said. "Connor's coming back for it once we have a date. He and Joe are going to be Joseph's godparents, and we'd like for you two to be DJ's."

Julian exchanged a pleased look with Grace. "We'd be delighted."

"Richie's honorary big brother, of course," Duncan said, smiling at his former student. "And Amanda's planning the christening party."

"God help up all," Methos murmured. "She and Gina have a competition of some sort going on. She's been miffed ever since she found out that Gina saw the babies before she did."

"Well, if she hadn't gone gallivanting half-way across the world, she might have seen them earlier," Duncan said. "She took off on a shopping spree right after we got here. God knows what we'll find back at to the hotel."

"Just as long as she doesn't have _your_ credit card," Grace teased.

"No, I've got that," Methos said, grinning.

"Well, as long as you keep him away from book stores..." Julian said, and Methos kicked him under the table.

 

* * *

 

They parted company after dinner as the doctors had early morning appointments and the other three planned to drop in at Joe's for a little bit. They had decided to arrive early in the evening before the pub got crowded and noisy. Joe's band was performing as they entered and stood along the bar, both babies settled into Snugglies on their fathers' chests.

Joe's sharp eyes spotted them, and as the set ended, he gestured for them to come forward. "I didn't expect to see you characters here," he said, setting down his guitar and reaching for Joseph. Looking over at his band, he said, "Guys, these are - "

"Joseph and Julie," they said in chorus.

Methos grinned. "I guess he's talked about the babies a little."

"A little?" The drummer snorted. "Every day. Height, weight, sleeping schedule - I know more about them than about my _own_ kids."

"Don't pay any attention to them," Joe said, handing the baby back to Richie so he could lead the way to a back table. Duncan and Methos followed, but Richie had to wait as a young woman heading towards a table bumped into him. Her eyes widened when she saw that he was carrying a baby.

"Sorry!" she gasped. "Is she okay?"

"He, actually," Richie said, grinning. "And yeah, he's fine."

She peered down into the scrunched up face. "He's adorable! Is he yours?"

"Nah," Richie said and then, as he saw her face fall, added quickly, "He's my step-brother, and I take care of him a lot."

She cooed at the baby. "What's his name?"

"Joey, and that's his sister, DJ, with my...dad." He gestured towards the table where the rest of the group had settled.

"Twins? Oh, how sweet! It must be tough, trying to take care of _two_ babies."

A throat cleared behind Richie and he looked around to see Methos giving him an amused look. "I'll take him now, Rich."

Richie reluctantly handed over the baby and started to follow, but the girl had laced her arm in his saying, "I'd love to hear all about it. If you don't have to join your family, that is."

"No, no, they'll be fine without me for awhile," Richie managed to say as his new lady friend dragged him over to a table where several other young women sat watching them curiously.

"Everyone, this is Rich, and he's with those two adorable little babies," she announced.

The others made appreciative noises and scooted over so that Richie could join them. One of the women said, "The ones with that gorgeous gay couple?" He flushed and nodded. She leaned close enough for him to get a good look at her cleavage. "Are you gay, too?"

"No!" he said quickly. "Definitely not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with it or anything," he added hastily. "That's my dad and his partner."

"Good," she purred, running a finger down his cheek. "It'd be a shame for all this to go to waste."

Richie smiled and, as one of the other women ordered him a drink and the others eagerly asked him about his siblings, he mentally noted that babies were a great chick-magnet.

Methos settled at the table and once more handed Joseph over to Joe.  "I think we've lost Richie for the evening, Father."

Duncan chuckled as he watched the women fawning over his former student. "You're probably right, Wicked Stepmom."

Joe settled the baby comfortably in his lap. "So, what brings you to Paris, and why didn't you let me know you were coming?"

"Wanted to surprise you," Methos quipped. "We missed your shining face."

"Sh-eesh, guys, I've only been gone three days!"

Duncan shrugged. "Adam needed a break from Les Tardes, and I wanted to talk to Father Liam about their christening. You're still going to be one of Joseph's godparents, aren't you?"

"Just try to stop me," Joe said, grinning. He looked at Methos. "Going stir crazy, buddy?"

"Just a bit," Methos drawled. "I thought I'd check with the university and see if there's any translation work they need done."

Joe raised his eyebrows. "I thought you were busy with your current job."

"Former," he said shortly. "I was let go."

Joe opened his mouth to say something but the look on Methos' face made him change his mind. "So, how long are you guys planning on staying? The barge is still in dry-dock."

"We're staying at a hotel," Duncan said. "Wasn't much point in setting up the barge for just a couple weeks."

"Thinking about selling?" Joe asked, eying Duncan shrewdly.

He shrugged. "I was, but Adam's feeling sentimental about the place."

Joe snorted. " _Adam_ wants you to keep the barge? You're right: the isolation has obviously affected his brain."

Methos glared at Joe. "Nice."

"Don't mention it." Joe looked back over at the stage where his band was warming up again. "Well, gotta go earn my keep. You clowns planning on hanging around for a bit?"

Duncan nodded. "For a little while."

"We'll leave before they get hungry," Methos said, an impish gleam in his eyes. "Wouldn't want to shock your clientele."

Joe snorted as he got up. "Richie's new friends would probably pay to see that."

"Get them to pay for my beers and it's a deal," Methos called after him. Duncan smacked him on the arm and Methos gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. "What?"

"And you call _me_ a pervert. At least I don't offer to give a show."

Methos grinned and reached out to touch Duncan's hand. "Good thing, too. I'd have to beat the women off with a stick."

Duncan didn't say anything, just smiled and squeezed Methos' hand before turning his attention back to the stage.

 

* * *

 

Duncan unlocked the door to the hotel suite and found himself face-to-face with a giant teddy bear. "Amanda!" he called. "What is this?"

Amanda came out of the second bedroom, her most dazzling smile in place. "Isn't it cute? When I saw it in the toy store window, I couldn't resist."

"You should have tried harder," Methos murmured, looking over the monstrosity. "Have you thought about how we're going to get this back home, much less where to put it?"

Amanda pouted. "You're no fun."

"That's not what Mac says."

He took the baby carrier into the bedroom and carefully transferred a sleeping Julie into the portable crib they'd brought along. Shutting off the lights, he returned to the sitting room where Duncan had settled into a chair to feed Joseph. Amanda was staring at him, transfixed by Duncan MacLeod bottle-feeding the baby, and Methos had to poke her to get her attention.

"I take it the Parisian economy got a healthy shot in the arm today?" he asked.

Amanda brightened. "I found the cutest little baby outfits," she said, dragging him into the bedroom. "And darling hand-made christening gowns. Oh, and some wonderful decorations for the nursery."

Methos took in the brightly colored packages scattered across the large bed and blinked. "Did you leave anything in the stores?"

Amanda smiled at him, amused. "Of course. All the tacky, overpriced things."

"Mac, we're going to need a bigger car," he called back to the main room.

"I've been thinking about that," Duncan returned. "A minivan, maybe?"

"Do I look like a soccer mom to you?" Methos retorted, going back into the living room. "How about an SUV? I liked the one I had in Seacouver. It was a nice manly vehicle."

Duncan's lips twitched. "Oh, I can see how much you need to maintain that macho appearance." Methos glared and held up two fingers. "Maybe later. When the children are asleep."

"Speaking of which," Amanda said, "where's your eldest son?"

Methos smirked. "At Joe's, surrounded by a table of beautiful women. Seems he discovered babies are useful in attracting them."

"Jealous?" Duncan asked.

"Of Richie? Please. I have a lot more taste than that. And I have you."

Duncan grinned. "That can be arranged."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Can't you two keep your hands off each other for five minutes?"

"For your information, it's been _hours_ ," Methos said loftily.

"Not to mention abstaining for the last month," Duncan added. "We've got catching up to do." He transferred Joseph to his shoulder for burping.

Amanda shook her head in mock disgust but couldn't help smiling. It was good to see that the two of them had weathered everything life had thrown at them. She hoped it would last.

 

* * *

 

Father Liam looked up from the papers he was working on, intrigued but not alarmed by the sense of Immortal presence. He smiled as he recognized the man standing in the doorway and smiled. "Duncan MacLeod, come in!" Duncan entered the office and took the offered chair. "I was under the impression you'd left Paris."

Duncan nodded. "We moved to a little place in the country. Holy Ground. We came back to Paris to see you, actually."

Father Liam raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. Adam and I have adopted two babies and we'd like to have them christened."

"Rather a sudden decision, wasn't that?" Liam asked, his eyes intent on Duncan's face.

"We'd been thinking about this since we decided to get married," Duncan explained. "I've always wanted children."

"And Adam?"

"Oh, yes, he wanted children, too. He's very devoted to them already."

"I'm sure he is," Liam said. "What I meant was, how is Adam doing? I expect the pregnancy wasn't an easy one."

Duncan paled and was suddenly glad that Methos had decided to take the twins in for their "official" four-week checkup instead of coming with him. "How..?"

Liam got up and went to the door. He checked outside, then closed it and turned to Duncan. "I'd met Adam previously, remember? When we met again for the wedding, I noticed that his...Presence was different. Muted, as if he was a new Immortal. Adding that to the haste of the marriage, the fact that Adam always swore he'd never marry an Immortal, Dr. Fremont hovering over him, and certain private information that Brother Darius left to me...it wasn't hard to put everything together."

Duncan looked stunned. "Darius knew?"

Liam nodded. "He was born from two Immortals, and could remember the early years before his parents separated. Later, he came to believe that the Immortal he encountered here in Paris and beheaded was another such child. It piqued his curiosity, and when he encountered the doctor who had delivered him, the two of them began working together to identify other couples and their children. He was in a unique position of trust and feared that, should the knowledge die with him, future pairs would have no one to turn to for aid. So he made sure I would get his notes if he died." He smiled. "I have found the information to be quite interesting."

"Oh," Duncan said, still stunned.

"I haven't read of twins before," he said musingly, then smiled at Duncan. "So, the christening, then. Do you have a date?"

Duncan shook his head. "I wasn't sure when you'd be able to perform it. What the requirements are, for example."

Father Liam sat back in his chair. "We usually have the parents attend two or three counseling sessions, discussing the role of faith and the Church in their children's lives. We might be able to make an exception in this case. At least one of the godparents must be Catholic - I assume you've already selected them?"

Duncan nodded. "Joe's Catholic. Connor was raised in the faith, although he no longer practices it. I'm not sure about Julian or Grace."

"That should suffice. I'd like to meet with both you and Adam at least once before the ceremony, so shall we set that for the end of the week, with the christening a week from Saturday? Would that give you enough time?"

"That would be perfect." He stood and held out his hand. "Thank you, Father Liam. I appreciate what you're doing for us, and I won't take up any more of your time." He started toward the door, then turned. "There's one more thing, if it wouldn't be a problem."

Father Liam smiled. "You'd like it performed in Darius' church?" Duncan nodded. "I believe that can be arranged."

Smiling his thanks, Duncan went to meet his spouse and children at the hotel.

 

* * *

 

Methos muttered in exasperation as the cell phone in his pocket beeped and he shifted the sleeping baby in his arms so that he could dig out the offending object. He'd just managed to get Joseph to sleep after two hours of pacing and patting the colicky baby's back, and if this damn call woke him, he was going to throw the phone out the hotel window. "Pierson."

"Dr. Pierson? Adam, is that you? Mon dieu, this connection is bad." There was some muttering and pressing of buttons, then the female voice spoke again, this time clearer. "Are you there, Adam?"

Methos blinked. "Dr. Gionetti?"

"I am so glad I located you, Adam," the assistant director of the Mediatheque said, relief obvious in her voice. "I have been calling your home but there was no answer."

"We're in Paris," Methos said, puzzled as to why his former employer was calling him.

"You haven't moved back there already?" she said, her voice alarmed.

"No, just visiting friends, finalizing papers for the adoption," he said, still mystified.

"Bon. I feared that someone else had already snatched you away from us, hence my urgency. Fortunately, Marie recalled that you left a message once with this number and - "

"Pardon me, Dr. Gionetti, but I don't quite understand. I was _fired_ last Friday."

"A mistake I hope to rectify," she said crisply. "One that would never had been made if _I_ had been here. Dr. Bruecher is well aware that she has overstepped her authority. As a matter of fact, she will be relocating to England, to work with our partners on the Lancelot-Graal project."

"Ah," Methos said flatly. He was well aware that his chances of being assigned to that project had been low, but now they dropped to nil. If he had still been an employee, that is.

"Her reassignment leaves us with a substantial hole to fill," Dr. Gionetti continued. "Her assistant will be taking on her day-to-day management tasks, but he is...unqualified to handle important projects."

Methos snorted. He was well aware that the young man in question was an excellent pencil pusher but had no gift for research. Joseph whimpered a little in his sleep and Methos shifted him to a more comfortable position and began pacing again. "And this matters to me exactly how?"

"We are desperately in need of you and your abilities," Dr. Gionetti said frankly. "We have received an important new research grant, one that shall be most difficult to undertake but I understand that the results could potentially be more important to the Mediatheque than even the Lancelot-Graal project. An American professor will be coming to France this summer, along with the man financing the project, to begin studying and translating the assembled writings. That gives us only a short time to prepare. Adam, we need you desperately. Will you come back? Will you take on this project?"

"You haven't said exactly what the project _is_ ," Methos reminded her.

"Ah, yes. Tell me - are you familiar with the works of Sir Richard Burton, the explorer...?"

 

* * *

 

Duncan opened the hotel room and found his spouse sitting in a chair, absently rocking the sleeping baby in his arms. "Colic?" he asked, indicating Joseph as he set the cardkey down.

"Hmm?" Methos started and looked down at the baby in his arms, as if wondering where he had come from. "Oh. Yes. Took two hours but he finally fell asleep." He took the baby into the bedroom and returned a few minutes later, still looking pole-axed.

Duncan frowned. "Something wrong with the babies?" he asked.

Methos shook his head. "No. Nothing like that. I just had an unexpected phone call."

"From?" Duncan prompted.

"Dr. Gionetti. Assistant director at the Mediatheque."

"And?"

"And she wants me to come back, to take on a special project."

Duncan grinned. "That's great!" When Methos didn't grin in response, he said cautiously, "Isn't it?"

Methos drew in a deep breath. "Mac, it's researching something that has potential for misuse and I know _nothing_ about the motives of the people behind it."

"How bad?"

"Imagine if someone was suddenly to start researching Immortals, if part of a Watcher's journal had fallen into someone's hands," Methos said, beginning to pace. "Not that bad, but close."

"What are you planning to do?"

"I accepted," Methos said with a shrug. "It's the only way to find out what's going on. If it looks like trouble, I'll do what I can to steer them off track. Otherwise...well, it's a hell of an interesting challenge."

Duncan grinned at that. "Sounds like it's right up your alley," he said, relieved. The idea of a bored Methos stuck at the house for months on end made him shudder, so this news couldn't have come at a better time. The combination of research and intrigue would keep Methos contented for months.

That reminded him of his own news. "Father Liam said he'll do the christening a week from Saturday. We need to attend a counseling session Friday." Casually, he added, "Did you know that Darius had records of Immortal-born babies? He passed them on to Father Liam."

Methos stared at him, stunned for the second time that day. "He _what_?"

"Apparently Julian was aware of Darius' knowledge; the two of them compared notes. He may or may not know about Father Liam."

"Trouble?" Methos asked, and the edge to his voice made Duncan glad that he could respond negatively.

"No, Father Liam seems to be discreet about the subject and only wants to be 'available' for Immortals who find themselves in this situation. He figured out about you, by the way, and was concerned about your well-being."

"Well," Methos said, running his hand through his hair, "this _has_ been a hell of an interesting day."

"That's one way of putting it," Duncan said. "Wonder what _other_ research project will jump up and bite us on the ass. Trouble comes in threes, you know." A sudden chill ran down his back and he shivered involuntarily.

"Superstitious," Methos teased, and crossed the room to slide his arms around Duncan. "I know something _good_ that can come in threes."

Duncan grinned. "Ambitious, aren't we?" he teased, and forgot everything else as he let Methos tug him into the bedroom.

* * *

It was a beautiful day for mid-February, one of those unseasonably warm days that occurred for no reason around that time of year, usually just before another spate of totally miserable weather. Duncan, looking around at the gathered friends and family, hoped that it was a good omen for the future. A dozen of their friends were gathered in the church, much smaller than the group that had attended his wedding eight months earlier, but that was a _good_ thing, in his opinion. Though they couldn't hope to hide the twins forever, the less people who knew at the present, the better.

Father Liam approached the altar, and Duncan caught Methos' eye as they moved to stand on the other side of the baptismal font, each of them holding a twin. Connor and Joe moved to stand behind Methos and Joseph, and Duncan grinned at the looks on their faces. One would have thought that Connor and Joe were personally involved in the conception of the little boy from the proud looks they were wearing. Julian and Grace took their places behind him, and he suspected that they only a little less euphoric looking.

He glanced over at the pews, where the rest of his extended Clan sat, then turned his attention back to Father Liam. The words of the baptismal rite rolled over him, both familiar from all the times he'd heard them growing up, and strange, hearing them in English instead of Latin.

He heard himself make the appropriate responses, his voice blending with Methos', and

thought how appropriate that was. They were joined on so many levels now - hearts and bodies, flesh and blood - with the very tangible evidence lying in his arms. DJ blinked up at him, her eyes and dark hair so very like Methos', the curls and lightly golden complexion his own gift to her. Her twin lay in her other father's arms, protesting the cold water soaking his head with lungs that had been getting a regular workout lately. Duncan fervently hoped that Joseph would grow out of his colicky tendencies soon, but Methos soothed him with practiced ease. He seemed to be taking everything in stride, for which Duncan was grateful.

DJ cooed and he smiled as he tickled her cheek with one finger, then he stepped up to the baptismal font. Conceived in fire, born in blood, baptized in water, he thought, and the memory of that day in Bordeaux flooded back. Two lives ended and two new lives begun. Two souls sundered and two souls united. Joy from despair, love from sorrow, and life from death.

 

**The End**


End file.
